


Potter Haven

by Stargon



Series: The Cupboard Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, thecupboardseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 104,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargon/pseuds/Stargon
Summary: After the disastrous events at King's Cross Station at the end of Harry and Hermione's second year, Harry's been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and is now on the run. Hunted by the Ministry of Magic and Albus Dumbledore alike, Harry must somehow learn to survive alone while at the same time continuing his magical education.





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – I solemnly swear that JKR owns everything Harry Potter. Whether or not I am up to no good with her characters is for you to decide.

-oOoOo-

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” that most cherished of voices whispered.

A light touch on her cheek registered and she brought her hand up, her fingers brushing along that spot. Slowly, her eyes flickered open and she frowned. He wasn’t there, hovering over her like she’d imagined. The voice, the kiss, must have been nothing but a dream. Another one of _those_ dreams, but one that felt infinitely more real.

Turning her head, Hermione Granger made out the frantic activity in the hall between Platforms Nine and Ten at King’s Cross Station past the wisps of her bushy brown hair. People everywhere where rushing about. Many were slowly pushing themselves to their feet or helping others to stand. A couple of red-robed aurors seemed to be taking charge and herding everyone together.

Her brows knitted in concentration as she thought back to the last thing that she remembered.

She, her best friend Harry Potter, and their friends had not long arrived back at King’s Cross from Hogwarts. They’d passed through the barrier where Harry had been pulled away to meet little Colin Creevey’s family while she had gone on to find her own parents.

She remembered Harry joining the three of them and then he’d asked to speak to her privately. Whatever it was that Harry had wanted to say had him extremely nervous. He couldn’t even look her in the eye at first and she’d wondered, no _hoped,_ that he was finally going to ask her the question that she’d been ever so patiently waiting for for most of the year.

And then, just when it looked like he’d finally gathered up his courage, they’d been interrupted by Dumbledore. Two minutes! Just two more minutes! If he’d only given them that much time, then she would have known. Instead, the Headmaster had stood there, not allowing them the privacy and time that they needed.

And then everything seemed to go straight to hell.

Dumbledore had grabbed Harry and tried to drag him off behind a pillar to apparate the two of them to Harry’s Aunt and Uncle’s place. A place that Harry should _never_ go and not just because of the way that they treated him. No, it was much worse than that. Nearly a year ago, Harry had inadvertently made a magical vow stating that he’d give up his magic if he spent another night at Privet Drive with his relatives.

Dumbledore knew that. But for some unfathomable reason, he’d chosen to ignore it.

Harry’d fought the Headmaster, but it was no use. She’d seen her dad start towards the struggling pair but before he’d reached them, Harry’s magic had exploded.

Hermione remembered an intense flash of red light before she was blown backwards. Lifting herself up on her elbows, she could now see that she was over ten feet from where she’d last been. Whatever that was that Harry’d accidentally done, it was definitely powerful.

Her eyes widened as she saw a bunch of purple and gold robes lying at the base of a pillar. Dumbledore looked to be out cold.

“Hermione, darling, are you alright?” her mum asked, dropping to her knees beside her.

She nodded. “Where’s Harry?”

Her father’s eyes roved over her, obviously checking for any injuries before answering. “I’m not sure. I think I saw him run from the station, but in all the confusion, I’m not sure. Who was that man and what was he trying to do to Harry?”

“ _That_ was our Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore and he was _trying_ to take Harry to his relatives,” Hermione replied venomously.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Not back to those people who locked him in his room last summer?”

Hermione nodded.

“Excuse me,” a red-robed auror interrupted, “but I’m going to have to ask you to move over this way.”

“Why?” her dad asked, standing up and using his height to look down on the younger man.

“We’ve got some healers on the way to check you over for injuries and we’re interviewing everyone to find out what happened here,” the auror replied.

“It’s okay, dad, this man’s an auror. They’re like magical policemen,” Hermione explained.

After a nod of consent, her dad reached down to help Hermione to her feet before the three of them started across the hall.

-oOoOo-

“What do you mean I have to stay here?” Cyrus Greengrass yelled. “Do you know who I am?”

To help give the baby-faced auror a chance to answer, Cyrus leld up his right hand, his Head of House ring clear to see on his index finger.

“My apologies, Lord Greengrass, but until we have the area secure, I must ask you to remain close to the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters,” the auror replied, an apologetic look on his face.

Cyrus glared hard before answering slowly to make sure that the buffoon in front of him understood.

“I witnessed the event and at the centre of it all was the Boy-Who-Lived being forcibly dragged away by the Chief Warlock. And while I’m not entirely sure what happened, House Greengrass owes a debt to that boy and we will honour it by looking after his interests in this matter. You have five minutes and then, if you want to try to keep me away from checking on Harry Potter, then you’re going to have to stun me!”

He was pleased to see the auror’s eyes widen before he scurried off.

“Daddy? What happened to Harry?” a clearly distraught Daphne asked.

-oOoOo-

“Excuse me, Madam Bones?”

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, looked up from her parchment filled desk to see one of her on-duty aurors poking her head into her office.

“What is it, Janice,” she asked

“The Big Board detected a major magical event less than five minutes ago,” Janice announced.

Amelia dropped her quill as she began to get to feet.

“Where was it?” she asked.

“The muggle side of King’s Cross Station,” Janice answered, moving back from the door to allow her boss egress. “I’ve already sent a team there and I’ve alerted the Obliviators.”

As Amelia strode from her office, she glanced at the clock.

“The Hogwart’s Express should have arrived a quarter of an hour ago,” she mused. “And at this time of day, King’s Cross is going to be packed. How big was this magical event? Could it have been a simple case of accidental magic?”

Janice shrugged as she fell into step. “Could have been but it seemed too large to have been from a kid, Ma’am.”

“In that case, alert another two squads,” Amelia ordered. “I’ll lead them myself.”

-oOoOo-

“What are you doing to my dad?” Colin Creevey asked anxiously. “Why are you pointing your wand at him like that?”

The stern faced woman, Auror Hawthorne she’d introduced herself as, paused and her wand dipped. Her eyes switched focus until they were looking down at the small mousey-haired boy who’d just finished his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Are you magical?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Colin nodded eagerly. “So’s my brother but he won’t start at Hogwarts until the year after next.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” Auror Hawthorne said, turning back to Colin’s parents. “I wasn’t aware that you were family of a magical.”

Colin saw his dad give a rather shaky sort of nod.

“What were you going to do?” Colin asked.

“In order to keep the Statute of Secrecy, we’ll need to _obliviate_ any non-magical of what’s happened here,” Auror Hawthorne explained.

“Then may I suggest that you check to see whether they’re family of a witch or wizard first?” Mister Creevey suggested.

“Of course. Once again, my apologies,” Auror Hawthorne said before turning away to find someone else to harass.

-oOoOo-

“Excuse me Sir, my name is Tim Ferguson. I’m an auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Dan Granger looked the man over. Like the rest of the aurors, he was wearing red wizard’s robes, although these ones had a small gold band around the man’s left sleeve. He also looked a lot more mature and experienced than the first auror that Dan had spoken to. Tim Ferguson looked to be slightly older than he was. His dark hair was greying around the temples and his short beard had more of a salt and pepper flavour to it than it once probably did.

“Yes?” Dan said.

“I understand that you were one of the closest to the event,” Auror Ferguson said. “I was wondering if I could have your version of events for the official report.”

“Of course, Officer, although, my daughter, Hermione, was almost standing right beside Harry when it happened,” Dan explained.

“If I could have full names, please, that would help the report,” Auror Ferguson asked.

“Of course,” Dan replied, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t already thought of that. “I’m Doctor Daniel Michael Granger. My daughter is Hermione Jane Granger, she goes to Hogwarts, just finished her second year there. And the Harry that I mentioned is Harry Potter. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what his middle name is.”

“The Harry Potter? The-Boy-Who-Lived?” Auror Ferguson confirmed.

“That’s the one,” Dan frowned. “I’ve heard my daughter say that he gets called that and that he hates it.”

For a fraction of a second, Auror Ferguson looked abashed, before his job kicked in.

“If you could walk us through what you saw,” he said, indicating that they should move over so that it could be re-enacted.

“Harry and Hermione had just gone over there to have a last talk before the holidays,” Dan began, “before they were interrupted by that man.”

Here Dan paused to point to the prone form of the man currently being tended to by a pair of witches.

“Chief Warlock Dumbledore,” Auror Ferguson inserted.

“Chief Warlock? I thought his title was Headmaster?” Dan said, confused.

Auror Ferguson smiled. “Albus Dumbledore is a very important man. He holds both of those titles, plus a few others.”

“How does he find time to run a school?” Dan wondered before shaking his head to get back to the topic at hand. “I couldn’t hear what was being said, but there looked to be some sort of disagreement. My daughter said that the Headmaster wanted to take Harry back to those vile relatives of his and that Harry didn’t want to go.”

“Go on,” Auror Ferguson said after jotting a few facts down on his parchment.

“That’s when things looked to get a bit violent. Dumbledore grabbed Harry’s arm and started to pull him towards that pillar. Harry was putting up a struggle and then the world went red and my wife and I were knocked over by some kind of backlash.”

“Red, you say,” Auror Ferguson confirmed. “Do you remember the source of it at all?”

Dan scrunched his face up in thought. “I’d have to say that it was Harry, but I’m not sure.”

“Did you see what happened to the Chief Warlock?” Auror Ferguson asked.

“I’m pretty sure that he was sent flying by whatever it was that happened with Harry and struck that pillar,” Dan replied.

“Did you notice at all what happened to Mister Potter?”

“Not really. I think he left the station pretty quickly afterwards, but I only caught a quick glimpse of him.”

“Thank you, Mister Granger, you’ve been a big help,” Auror Ferguson nodded. “Oh, one last thing. You said that your daughter and Mister Potter were friends. Do you think that she might have any idea where Mister Potter might have run off to?”

Dan shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

-oOoOo-

“Report!” Amelia barked.

As the dozen aurors spilled out from the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters from which they’d all just apparated from, Senior Auror Tim Ferguson strode over towards her.

“Ma’am,” he nodded.

“What’s the go, Tim?” she asked one of her more experienced field agents.

“At approximately twenty minutes past five, there was an altercation between Chief Warlock Dumblore and Harry Potter,” he began.

Amelia closed her eyes and sighed. Harry. She should have known.

“It appears that Dumbledore was attempting to take Mister Potter to his relatives house when Mister Potter became agitated,” Tim continued. “This resulted in a burst of accidental magic from Mister Potter. If I had to guess, I’d liken it to an overpowered stunner.”

“How overpowered?” Amelia asked, sweeping her gaze across the hall.

Most of the people, both adults and students, were being interviewed on one side of the area. Occasionally, a person was escorted across to a grey-robed Obliviator. These were obviously the muggles having their memory of the event modified. On the far side of the hall, a pair of Healers were bent over a single prone body.

“Overpowered enough to send the Chief Warlock flying twenty feet through the air and to knock everyone over in a radius of forty feet.”

Amelia whistled. “That’s some accidental magic. I doubt that there’s many wizards that could do that kind of spell with a wand. Was anyone injured?”

“Only the Chief Warlock,” Tim replied, indicating the Healers.

“And where is Mister Potter now?” she asked.

“Unknown. He’d run before we even got here,” Tim replied.

Amelia sighed. This was going to be a nightmare. Accidental magic or not, Harry’d broken the Statute of Secrecy, not to mention injuring one of the most powerful men in Great Britain. She sure hoped that he had a good reason, but simply the fact that he’d run didn’t look good. The media, she knew, were going to be all over this, especially after Harry’s hearing last September.

And then, as though she’d summoned them, a pair of reporters arrived. One was instantly recognisable: Rita Skeeter with her trademark jewelled spectacles and green quill. The other was somewhat decent for a reporter; at least, he more often than not actually reported the truth: Marcus Waynesbury.

“Madam Bones, how nice to see you,” Rita purred. “We were wondering if you could give us a statement about what happened here today?”

-oOoOo-

“Come on, Mooney, Harry’s probably been waiting for us for over half an hour.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Sirius shot back.

“Mine? How do you figure that?” Remus Lupin asked as they dashed across the road towards the entrance to King’s Cross Station.

“Easy. You’re the one who convinced me to become ‘Lord Black’ and take my seat on the Wizengamot,” Sirius replied lightly.

Remus scowled at him. “Maybe so, but if you can get that werewolf law changed, it’ll all be worth it.”

“True,” Sirius allowed, “although I don’t think old Elphias had given that proposal much thought.”

“It’ll give you something to do over the holidays,” Remus replied.

By now, the two men were rushing into King’s Cross. The instant that they passed Platform Eight, their steps faltered and they looked grimly at each other.

“That was some pretty hefty muggle repelling ward,” Remus remarked.

“Something’s happened,” Sirius remarked as he sped up once again.

As they entered the area, a fresh-faced auror stepped out in front of them, one hand raised to stop them.

“I’m sorry, Sirs, but you can’t come past here.”

Sirius barely even paused. Instead, he held up his Head of House ring and strode forth. The instant that he caught a glint of light from Amelia Bones’ monocle, he altered direction. Currently she as in the middle of a press conference so the two men stopped just close enough to listen in.

“What was this ‘altercation’ about?” the male reporter asked.

“That information is currently unavailable to us,” Amelia replied.

“Have you taken young Harry into custody for the grievous injury that he inflicted upon our illustrious Chief Warlock?” Rita Skeeter asked.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other in horror.

“No charges have yet been laid, Miss Skeeter and will not be until we have completed our inquiry,” Amelia replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a job to do.”

As Amelia strode off towards the far side of the area, Sirius and Remus fell into step on either side of her.

“What’s going on, Am?” Sirius asked.

“I’m still trying to work that out,” she replied, without even bothering to glance at him.

“Want to give us the five knut version, then?” he asked.

By the time that Amelia had finished telling all that she knew, Remus was scowling at his fellow Marauder.

“ _This_ is what happens when you try to be too clever! Dumbledore should have been told that he wasn’t Harry’s guardian months ago!” he ranted.

“Alright, alright,” Sirius relented, holding his hands up in surrender. “I should have listened to you.”

“Do either of you have any idea where Harry could be?” Amelia asked.

“None,” they replied simultaneously.

“That’s going to make things more interesting,” she commented, and then, after gaining the closest Healer’s attention, she asked, “what’s Dumbledore’s condition?”

“He’s had a very severe blow to the head,” she replied. “We’ll transport him back to St Mungo’s where I suspect he’ll be kept in a magically-induced coma for quite a number of days while we allow him time to recover. The brain can be quite a tricky thing, even for us magicals.”

After taking her leave, Amelia led the two men towards one particular group of three people.

“Professor Lupin! Sirius!” Hermione cried “Do you know where Harry is?”

Sirius, Remus and Amelia all looked at each other.

“We were hoping that you’d know where he would have gone,” Amelia replied.

“Do you think that he would have gone to Beth at the bookstore?” Remus asked.

Hermione shook her head, making her bushy hair fly around her face. “No, no, I don’t think he’ll be anywhere in the magical world.

“Why’s that?” Sirius asked quickly.

Hermione cocked her head at him. “He told me what happened at his hearing.”

Amelia swore under her breath. “He was told that if he did any more underage magic then he’d be expelled from Hogwarts, have his wand snapped and his magic bound.”

“I think that I can understand why the boy ran if that’s the penalty for something that you can’t even control,” Dan Granger stated flatly.

“If he’s out in the muggle world, we may never find him,” Remus said, wiping his face with his hands.

“Oh, Merlin, Harry, what have you done?” Sirius groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wizardkind Threatened!  
By Rita Skeeter_

_Yesterday afternoon, our society came the closest to being exposed to the muggles that it has ever done in nearly five hundred years. Not even the Dark Wizard Grindelwald or You-Know-Who ever dared to bring the magical world to the attention of the muggles. So, I hear you ask, who was this darkest of wizards who would take us to the brink of tearing down the Statute of Secrecy? Why, no other than our ‘hero’ Harry Potter._

_Yes, yesterday afternoon at King’s Cross Station, an argument broke out between Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore and The-Boy-Who-Lived. Magicals and muggles alike were treated to the spectacle of these two great heroes locked in a battle of wills that ended with Harry Potter performing a feat of ‘accidental magic’ in front of hundreds of witnesses._

_What was this magic that the Boy-Who-Lived dared to perform in front of muggles, threatening to expose our entire society to the world at large, I hear you ask? Even the DMLE can’t answer that question. All we know is that by the time the dust settled, dozens of people, both magical and muggle had been thrown from their feet, some quite violently through the air, in a blast of magic that appeared to on-lookers as a red wave._

_The question that begs to be asked is what was it that had these two heroes of our world arguing? Unfortunately, no one knows. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard alive in the world today is unable to answer us. Harry Potter’s magic threw the Chief Warlock forcefully sixty feet into a concrete pillar rendering him unconscious._

_St. Mungo’s healer, Tristan Davenport, states that the kind of head trauma that the Chief Warlock suffered is enough to cause permanent brain damage. He’ll be lucky to wake up for weeks and until he does, we won’t know whether his great mind will ever be the same again._

_And what of Harry Potter? Has the DMLE taken him into custody? Has he already been arrested and charged? No! By the time that aurors responded to this threat to our society, the Boy-Who-Lived had already fled the scene of his crime._

_One has to wonder if we now have a second Dark-Lord-in-the-making to deal with. It’s widely known that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is already seeking a way to rise from the dead to continue his reign of terror once more. And now, we have Harry Potter to deal with._

_This is the boy who’s already killed a Hogwarts teacher in his first year, been revealed to be a parselmouth, and just recently, proved that he’s powerful enough to slay a basilisk. This paper has already printed photographic evidence of the wizard’s staff that Harry Potter found in Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets. Wizard staffs are far more powerful than a simple wand and Potter’s already proven that he can use it. Who knows what else he found down in that Chamber that he hasn’t told us about?_

_What’s more, just last September, Harry Potter was summoned to the Ministry of Magic for his second breach of the Restrictions for Underage Magic. There he was warned what would happen if he did it again – expulsion from Hogwarts, his wand snapped and his magic bound. He’s shown his blatant disregard to our laws and way of life. I, and I’m certain my readers agree with me, firmly believe that Harry Potter needs to not only have these measures enforced but for the Ministry to go further and to obliviate our society from his mind! We won’t be safe until they do._

_This reporter urges the DMLE to use all of its resources to track the runaway future Dark Lord and to do their duty before the worst can happen._

-oOoOo-

At the dining room table of the upstairs flat of Shop Ninety-Five Diagon Alley, Beth Pemberton threw down her copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in disgust. She couldn’t believe what she’d just finished reading. It’d been bad enough reading all of the negative publicity that that poor boy had had to endure over the last year and now this! That Skeeter woman had basically just called for a witch hunt on the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Dropping her head to her hands, Beth allowed her long dark hair to curtain her from the rest of the world. She thought back to that day, nearly a year ago now, when she’d first met Harry Potter.

She’d been here in her kitchen when she’d heard her son, Mickey, call out in alarm. After racing downstairs to protect her then nine year old boy, she’d come face to face with the raggedly dressed orphan. Once he’d introduced himself, she’d been certain what he was there for – to reclaim his property and to evict both Beth and her son.

Instead, she’d been amazed to discover that all the boy wanted was a place to sleep for the rest of his holidays. He’d befriended them both, especially Mickey. The number of times that she’d seen the two boys in the backyard playing and laughing during those weeks had warmed her heart.

For Harry Potter was simply a boy. A normal boy. Nothing at all like the stories made him out to be. He was warm and caring, humble and shy, but with one of the lowest self-esteems that she’d ever encountered. At first, he’d been dressed in only hand-me-downs until he’d returned home one day all excited over buying his very own clothes.

She’d seen him blossom over that month that he’d lived with them. His generous heart, though, wasn’t content to simply take room and board in the building that he owned. No, he happily did chores – cooking and cleaning, with a little gardening thrown in. But more than that, he’d opened a brand new store, the likes of which Diagon Alley had never seen before, a combined second-hand book shop and tea shop. And then he’d asked her to run it.

Beth’d been given free reign with the store. He’d promised that _Hermione’s Book Nook_ was all hers and that he wasn’t going to interfere in it and he’d kept to that promise. As owner, he was, of course, paid, but even that was a mere pittance, some gold and three random books sent to him on the first of every month.

Never had Beth met a more decent person than Harry Potter. She couldn’t have been prouder of him even if he’d been her own son.

And now this! This latest attack on Harry was the worst one yet. He’d been labelled a Dark Lord, a threat to magical society itself. If she was any judge, then up and down the country, witches and wizards would be getting ready to hunt the boy down and to do exactly what Skeeter recommended – destroy everything that the boy knows.

She just wished that there was something that she could do to help him. Not that she even knew where he was or what he’d do. Most likely, he didn’t even know what had been said about him.

Suddenly, Beth’s head snapped up. She had to find a way to help him. She was due to send him his monthly package today. In fact, she’d picked the books that she was thinking of sending him last night. But now, after reading this, she knew that she needed to pick again. Books on glamours and changing your appearance and perhaps one on blending into the muggle world, seemed more appropriate.

That, plus a letter and a subscription to _The Daily Prophet_ might also be in order. That way, Harry’d know what was going on. And it wasn’t like he could be tracked by the owls taking him his morning paper, not with that Goblin Postal Service box. No owl would ever get near him.

Her mind made up, Beth rose from the table and headed downstairs, intent on helping Harry in the small way that she could.

-oOoOo-

Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom paused in her reading of the article as her ears detected the quiet footsteps of her grandson. Her eyes tracked the boy’s entrance, his path across to the table and the quiet way that he slid into his seat. A gentle _clink_ of a cup was the only indication that he’d begun his breakfast.

Turning back to her newspaper before her, Augusta finished reading the lead article once and then for good measure, she read it for a second time. Over the years, she’d become most proficient at teasing out the truth from the trash that Rita Skeeter sprouted. Why the editors of _The Daily Prophet_ kept the woman on staff was beyond her, although, she was certain that the added gold that her particular brand of gossip brought in was sure to play a large part in that decision.

From what she could piece together, Dumbledore and young Harry had argued to the point that Harry had performed accidental magic. A boy of twelve, nearly thirteen, performing accidental magic was extremely rare, although not unknown. Certainly Dumbledore had been injured in some way and Harry had panicked and fled. Regrettable but understandable. No mention had been made of the muggles now knowing about the magical world, so she assumed that the aurors and Obliviators had performed their duties appropriately.

For the remainder of the article, Miss Skeeter had focused on young Harry’s recent past, skewing the facts to make them appear darker than they truthfully were. She’d also weaved her words well to create an air of panic that the masses would surely pick up and run with.

There was no doubt in her mind that there would be many people that very morning on the hunt for Harry Potter.

Laying aside her paper, she observed the boy in front of her.

Her grandson had begun to blossom in his time at Hogwarts in a way that she had not expected. He’d been a late bloomer in terms of his magic and there were many in the family, herself included, that feared the boy may have been a squib. But his time with young Harry, as well as Miss Granger and the others that he had become friends with, had drawn the formally shy boy out of his shell.

Oh, he was still reserved, but he was much more animated and confident than she’d ever imagined. If he kept to the path that he was travelling, then Augusta thought that maybe one day, he would reach the heights that his father, Frank, had achieved.

“Neville,” she asked, “is there a reason that Harry Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore would be arguing?”

She watched as Neville’s head shot up, a startled look on his round face.

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied.

“It would seem,” she replied, tapping _The Daily Prophet_ with one finger, “that the two of them argued at King’s Cross Station yesterday to the point where young Mister Potter performed accidental magic.”

“Is Harry alright?” he asked, concern for his friend clear in his voice.

“One would presume so. He left the building before the aurors arrived,” Augusta replied. “Now, an answer to my question if you please.”

Neville’s eyes shifted backwards and forwards.

“I assure you, Neville, that anything you say here will be kept in the strictest of confidences,” she assured her grandson.

“Okay, Gran,” Neville nodded. “I know that Professor Dumbledore was telling Harry that he had to go back to his relative’s house for the summer, but Harry was really going to go spent his holidays with his godfather.”

“Is there a reason that Dumbledore would believe that he could dictate where Harry spent his time away from Hogwarts? I would have thought that that was the responsibility of the boy’s guardian.”

“That’s the thing, Gran, Professor Dumbledore doesn’t know that Sirius and Professor McGonagall are Harry’s guardians and not him,” Neville explained.

Augusta narrowed her eyes at the implications. Two sets of adults fighting over the child, only one of which had a legal right to do so and each believing that they were that one. It had all the makings of a disaster waiting to happen. And if she had to guess, she’d say that that had Sirius Black written all over it. It sounded just like one of his infernal pranks.

Once more, Augusta glanced at the paper lying beside her breakfast plate. The Heir of House Potter was in a great deal of trouble, trouble that it may just take a firm political hand to solve. Her mind roved over countless scenarios and ways to ensure that justice would prevail. There was much work to be done and likely little time in which to accomplish it.

As she rose from the table, she paused to address her grandson. “Neville, I suggest that you read what is being said about you friend. Also, if Harry contacts you, offer him asylum at Longbottom Manor. Our Houses have been allied for a long time. We will not be found wanting when our ally needs us.”

-oOoOo-

“Your _Daily Prophet_ , Master,” a heavily bandaged house elf quailed.

Lucius Malfoy snatched the paper out of the elf’s hands. A single pointed look was enough to remove the creature from his sight. Then, with a crisp _snap_ he opened the paper and perused the front page. But it was not the headlines that first caught his attention. Instead it was the accompanying photo. Harry Potter, wizard staff in hand, stood proudly in front of the great basilisk that he’d slain.

Malfoy scowled. The beast was supposed to rid the school of the countless mudbloods, force the expulsion of that muggle-loving fool Dumbledore and sow the seed of fear throughout the wizarding world.

Instead, nothing had gone to plan. No one had been killed. Sure the squib and his mangy cat had been petrified, but then, three pure-bloods had been attacked, including the sons of two of Malfoy’s closest associates. It’d seemed as though that may have been enough to oust Dumbledore, but the old fool was almost politically untouchable.

Finally, some luck went Malfoy’s way and a muggleborn and a half-blood had been attack, if you ignore the fourth pure-blood as well. Unfortunately, once again, no one had died. The best that could be said was that the wizarding world had turned on the accursed Boy-Who-Lived. The one responsible for his master’s death.

_Harry Potter_ , he spat. What he wouldn’t give to see the boy hung, drawn and quartered. Not only for what he did to the Dark Lord, but also for the audacity of losing him his servant. And then, to place the blame for the events of the year on him! Correct or not, the boy was going to pay for that! It’d taken some hefty dealings and more gold than he would have preferred to ensure that the charges were conveniently ‘downgraded’, by the Minister of Magic himself.

Turning to the paper, Malfoy read the article, a slow smile appearing on his face. The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Leader of the Light fighting and nearly bringing down the Statute of Secrecy. It couldn’t have happened to two better people. And he hadn’t had to plan or manipulate anyone to make it happen! Especially with one possibly brain damaged and the other vilified to the point that he’d now be hunted from one end of the country to the other.

Throwing down his paper, Malfoy shot to his feet. This was an opportunity not to be wasted.  Snatching up his serpent-headed cane, he headed for the floo. Minister Fudge would need his closest advisors around him in this time of crisis.

-oOoOo-

Cyrus Greengrass was livid! He paced backwards and forwards across his dining room, pausing every now and again to stare once more at the paper that he’d left on his plate. One look was enough to start him off again, a steady stream of the vilest insults that he could think of being muttered under his breath.

“Cyrus Ignatius Greengrass!”

Freezing in place, he looked up guiltily. Obviously he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d thought he’d been while airing his thoughts about the parentage of Rita Skeeter.

“I trust that there’s a _very_ good reason for this behaviour?” his wife, Penelope, asked.

Cyrus took in his wife’s stance. One eyebrow was raised to disappear into her silky dark hair, her arms were crossed and her left foot had begun to tap.

Gulping, Cyrus tried to look as contrite as possible. “Rita Skeeter’s latest article.”

“And that had you cursing worse that the meanest muggle sailor?” Penelope questioned, her foot still tapping away. “And what would the girls have thought if they’d found you using that sort of language, hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Pen, but could I ask you to hold off on judging me until you’ve had a chance to read the article yourself?” he asked.

After a long hard glare, Penelope walked the few paces needed to the table and picked up the paper. Cyrus watched her face carefully. With a grim sense of satisfaction, he saw her delicate features darken, her brilliant blue eyes begin to smoulder with anger. Carefully, he schooled the smile off of his own face.

“Why that vile, despicable hag of a witch,” Penelope spat as she threw the paper away.

Cyrus couldn’t help himself – he laughed.

“Fine, you were more than justified,” Penelope glared. “But that still doesn’t give you leave to use that kind of language where the girls could hear you.”

“You’re right, dear, Astoria doesn’t need any more encouragement does she?” Cyrus agreed.

“What are your thoughts on … _that_?” Penelope asked.

Cyrus glowered. “Skeeter’s written just enough truth to twist what we saw happen in a way that ensures everyone will only think the very worst of Harry. We were both there, we saw what happened. And after hearing what Daphne said last night, I can see exactly how it played out _and_ why the boy ran.

“To be honest, I don’t know what we can do. Yes, I’ve got a seat on the Wizengamot, but our reputation’s still iffy at best. The Light side doesn’t completely trust us due to our past and the Dark side doesn’t trust us because they know that we’re not as Dark as we’ve been made out to be.

“ _Harry_ was supposed to be our ticket to a better future. That’s partly why I’ve been working to ally House Greengrass with House Potter. That sort of alliance would allow us to fully cement ourselves on the Light side of Grey.”

“So you’re not just trying to marry our eldest daughter off then?” Penelope asked with a smile.

Cyrus waved that absurd comment away. “You know it’s not. Harry saving Daphne’s life was simply the impetus that we needed. Nudging the two together is simply a way to use the life debt to ensure the alliance that we seek. Harry’s offer of friendship last year is all that House Greengrass has ever desired.”

“So what do you plan to do for your ally in the face of this?” Penelope asked as she slapped the paper.

“I honestly don’t know,” Cyrus replied, running a hand through his hair. “If only there was a way to shut Skeeter down!”

“I’d assume that the editors are dancing in their office thinking about the amount of money she’s going to make for them from this series of articles,” Penelope scowled. Then she corrected herself, “well, make the owners a lot of money.”

Suddenly, Cyrus bounded across the room, grabbed his wife in a massive hug and kissed her soundly.

“Penny, my dear, you’ve just given me the perfect idea!”

-oOoOo-

“ _Hem hem_ , excuse me, Minister, do you have a moment?”

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge looked around from the rack where he was hanging his lime green bowler and his overcoat to see his Senior Undersecretary standing in the doorway to his office.

“Of course, Delores, come right in,” Cornelius said, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk to the small witch.

Once they were both seated and tea had been offered and declined, Cornelius decided to get the ball rolling.

“What is it that I can do for you, Delores?” he asked.

“Would I be correct in assuming that you’ve seen this morning’s _Daily Prophet_ , Minister?” she asked in her high girly voice.

“I have. It seems that Rita got her facts straight once again,” Cornelius replied. “Everything tallies with the report that I received from the DMLE last night.”

“Quite, quite,” Umbridge smiled. “I was wondering what your response was going to be to the Potter boy’s antics?”

Fudge sat back in his chair. “I’ve been thinking about that. As much as I’d like to lay charges against the boy, Amelia’s being quite stubborn about wanting to talk to both Potter and Dumbledore before she does so.”

“But, Cornelius, you’re the _Minister_ ,” Umbridge pointed out.

“Yes, yes, but due process must be followed,” Fudge replied. “And there’s not much we can do until the boy’s been found.”

“You of course understand that he’ll simply attempt to lie his way out of his problems, don’t you Cornelius?” Umbride simpered. “I was there at his hearing last August and he lied then to weasel his way out of trouble.”

“Excuse me, Minister,” a welcome voice spoke from the doorway.

“Lucius, my old friend, come in, come in,” Cornelius gestured, standing up as the blonde-haired man entered.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your predicament,” Malfoy said once everyone was seated.

“Yes, Delores and I were in the process of deciding the Ministry’s response to yesterday’s travesty,” Cornelius relayed. “Our problem is that Madam Bones is insisting on talking to the boy before laying any charges.”

“Well, then, it seems clear to me that your solution is simple,” Malfoy drawled.

“Yes?” Cornelius asked eagerly, leaning forward over his desk in anticipation.

“If you need the boy, a boy I might add who left the scene of a crime, then all you need to do is to create a task force with the sole purpose on returning the boy to the Ministry,” Malfoy recommended.

“And if the boy refuses to come in peacefully?” Umbridge asked, her eagerness for that scenario clear to the other two men.

“Why, in that instance, I’m sure that your task force will understand the _appropriate_ action to take,” Malfoy smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

No one paid any attention to the boy lying on the bench in the middle of the park. After all, it wasn’t as though there weren’t dozens of others utilizing the park at the same time. It was a popular place for lunch – not too far from a half-dozen blocks of offices and within short walking distance from a small mall. Many hundreds of people visited this place every week and, while it wasn’t usual to see a teen there, the school holidays had arrived and more young people were out and about than there usually were.

At that moment, the boy in question was asleep, something that he hadn’t done in close to thirty hours. There had been moments when his head had drooped, but a five second or so micro-nap is never going to be enough to sustain anyone.

Those who noted the boy at all saw a skinny boy with a shocking head of messy black hair. If the eyes behind the old, round spectacles had been open, they would have been mesmerised by his vivid green eyes that had enchanted more girls than the boy had ever realised. The most striking feature of the boy, though, was only visible on the odd occasion that the wind ruffled his hair enough to expose it. A red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt stood proudly on his forehead, still looking as fresh as the day that it was made over eleven years previously.

Both the boy’s arms and feet were crossed as he slept. His clothes, a pair of long dark grey cargo pants and a dark green T-shirt were rumpled as though he’d been wearing them for the last couple of days. Little did people realise that they were correct. For this was no ordinary boy, this happened to be one of the most wanted individuals in the whole of Great Britain.

Not that Harry Potter, for that was the boy’s name, knew this at that time.

Certainly, Harry knew that people would be looking for him. Just as certainly, he knew that he didn’t want to be found. Not after what he’d done. For he was no ordinary person. No, Harry Potter was a wizard. A wizard that had recently caused one of the most powerful wizards in the country if not the world, and incidentally his own Headmaster, to fly through the air into a concrete pillar. Harry was sure that Dumbledore would have been injured badly. And to top it off, that was his third offence at breaching the Decree for Underage Wizardry.

Not that he believed that any of those times were truly his fault. One was made by a house elf; the other two were clearly cases of accidental magic, something that he couldn’t control. But in the wizarding world, three strikes and you were out.

That was why, even as he slept, Harry had one hand tightly wrapped around his wand. He had absolutely no intention of being caught or going quietly. He didn’t want his wand snapped or his magic bound. The third penalty, that of being expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had surely already happened and there was nothing that he could do about that.

Oddly enough, he’d actually planned for this strange turn of events. But then, his life was never like an ordinary person’s, so it paid to be prepared.

An incessant _beep_ of his watch snapped Harry’s eyes open. With a jolt, he sat up and peered around him and behind him, assessing each and every person that he could see. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he relaxed slightly. Slowly, stealthily, he slipped his wand back into the dragon-hide holster on his wrist and made sure that it was disillusioned.

Glancing at his watch, Harry nodded and stood. By now, his new glasses should be ready.

Getting to his feet, he began to make his way back towards the mall that he’d stumbled across only that morning.

Initially, when Harry had run from King’s Cross Station the afternoon before, his only thought had been to disappear into muggle London. Wizards, he knew, rarely ventured away from their own world and outside in the crowds was his best bet at getting lost. He’d randomly taken street after street, always changing direction, always aiming to make it infinitely harder for any pursuit to find him.

A cinema had caught his attention and, using some of the precious muggle money in his wallet, he’d gone in. With food and drink in hand, the dark of the cinema had been the perfect place to catch his breath. The movie that he’d picked at random had very few people watching it, so it’d been easy for him to sit up the back, far from the other patrons.

There, once the movie was going, he’d taken his tiny trunk out of his pocket, enlarged it and placed Hedwig’s cage inside. On instinct, he’d also grabbed out the rest of his muggle money and the first couple of pages of parchment that his goblin account manager, Slipshard, had sent him all those months ago outlining the plan that they’d put together.

Once the movie had finished, Harry bought tickets to a second one, figuring that he was safe there and by the time that he’d finally left, night had well and truly fallen and the streets were almost deserted. He’d wandered around for a time until he’d stumbled upon a small park, the one he’d just left actually, and hidden himself away for the rest of the night under a large bush.

Sleep that night had eluded him. As much as he’d tried, he simply couldn’t find a comfortable position. Not to mention the fact that he was constantly on alert for danger, both magical and muggle.

When his watch finally let him know that it was time to ‘get up’, he’d crawled out and set off to find some breakfast. As he sat eating a small stack of pancakes and drinking his shake at the closest Macdonald’s, Harry’d evaluated his options. Even without looking at the parchment that was stuffed in his pocket, he knew that he was going to need to travel north.

That meant braving a return to King’s Cross. But he wasn’t quite prepared to do that yet. An extra day seemed the prudent thing to do. And that would allow him to pick up one or two items that he’d need. He knew that his most distinguishing features were his hair, eyes and scar. All that he’d need to disguise himself were a pair of sunglasses and a hat.

From where he sat just inside the small mall, he could see an optometrist with a very promising sign: if he was happy to pick frames from a select group, he could have new glasses made within a couple of hours. It was an opportunity not to be passed up. He was the first one through the door that morning when the optometrist opened and, an hour later after an eye check and choosing a couple of frames – one for clear glasses, one for sunglasses – he was back out of it.

As much as he wanted to continue further on into the mall, Harry chose instead to return to the small park. For some reason, a nap seemed much more important than buying a hat just then.

“Ah, you’re back dear,” the woman behind the main counter remarked as Harry entered the optometrist’s once more. “I’ll just go and see if your glasses are ready.”

He watched as she bustled through the door in the back of the shop. Within minutes, she was back, carrying a small basket with her.

“They’re all done, dear,” she announced. “If you’d like to come over here, we’ll get them adjusted for you.”

Harry complied and moved to stand in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. The first pair of new glasses that he was given were his clear pair. They were rectangular with rounded edges and thin black metal arms and frames that only covered the top half of the glass.

After removing his old glasses and placing his new ones on, he was startled by how clearly everything appeared. Taking a step closer to the mirror, he nearly stumbled with disorientation.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the woman smiled, steadying him with a hand under his elbow. “It won’t take long for you to adjust. I’m surprised that you could see anything at all with those old pair.”

The second pair that he tried on, his sunglasses, had sturdy silver arms and frames around the black, rectangular glass. Harry smiled as, when he looked in the mirror, he noted that his green eyes were hidden behind the lenses.

Before long, Harry was walking out of the optometrists’ with a smile on his face. His head kept jerking around as he saw everything so clearly, so fresh, so _new_ looking. Around the first corner that he took as he began exploring the mall, he unexpectedly found a hat rack placed just outside the door to a small clothing store.

Smiling at his good fortune, Harry began exploring. He ignored the bowlers and top-hats, flirted with a fedora for a few minutes and then he saw the perfect one – a black cap with an embroidered silver dragon on its peak. Picking it up, he tried it on and peered at himself in the tiny mirror. After a quick duck into the store to pay for it, he continued on his exploration of the mall.

Feeling a slight grumble in his stomach, Harry stopped at the next café that he came to. Picking one of the small tables in the back, he sat back to await his burger, chips and coke.

_This_ , he reasoned, _would be the perfect time to plan the next stage of my ‘escape’._

The pieces of parchment that he pulled from his pocket were slightly crumbled, even after unfolding them and attempting to iron them flat with his hands. After reading them through, Harry realised how thorough Slipshard had been.

These two pages outlined the various travel routes that could be taken to reach his destination. There were instructions from London, Surrey and Hogsmeade, all likely places that he would be starting from, as well as a few other possibilities – Crawley, Newcastle, Birmingham and Liverpool.

Noticing the pretty, young waitress approaching, Harry moved his things out of the way to allow her to place the plate and cup down. He smiled his thanks before returning to his reading as he began to eat.

The closest starting point to his current destination was King’s Cross Station, assuming, of course, that he wanted to go by train. Bus was his other option, but that would double the time of his journey. So, train and by extension King’s Cross was his option. _That_ was something that he’d already known.

Harry sighed at the thought of another four or five hour train ride back to Scotland after having just ridden a train down from there the day before. At Berwick-Upon-Tweed, he’d need to transfer to a bus for the next leg. For the final leg of his journey, Slipshard had outlined the option by car or by foot. Car, of course, was out and a twelve mile hike didn’t exactly fill Harry with a great deal of joy.

_Surely,_ he thought, _there_ has _to be another way._

And then it came to him – a muggle way that wizards or goblins wouldn’t have even considered. He could ride a bike from Kelso. A bike’d also make it easier for getting around once he was holed up as well.

Glancing at his pocket, Harry briefly wondered whether a bicycle could even _fit_ in his trunk. He knew that the cupboard sections were big, but were they _that_ big? With a shrug, he knew that there was only one way to find out.

Finishing up his lunch, Harry went in search of the answer.

-oOoOo-

“Have you ever ridden a bike before, kid?” the salesman, a slim, athletic-looking man with black hair not unlike Harry’s asked dubiously.

Harry hung his head, embarrassed, “um, no.”

“Not to worry, first time for everything,” he was told.

“Right, the first thing we need to do is find a bike that right size for you,” the salesman continued, taking the handlebars to the over-sized bike that Harry currently had and manoeuvring it back into its rack.

There followed a crash course in bicycles, the likes of which he’d never imagined. First had come the sizing. Then the style of bike. Apparently, there were racing bikes, mountain bikes, BMX bikes, road bikes and a host of others. Some came with baskets at the front of the handlebars, others with a small rack behind the seat or a combined rack and saddle-bag fixture. Then there were the added features: headlights, tail-lights, reflectors, water bottle carriers, tyre pumps and of course, helmets.

By the time that Harry was outfitted with a brand new electric blue mountain bike with the added rear rack, front and tail lights, pump and water bottle, he was feeling overwhelmed.

“Right, put your helmet on and follow me,” the salesman, Jimmy, he’d learnt over the past hour or so, instructed.

Doing as he was told, Harry placed the grey and black helmet on his head, did up the strap and wheeled his bike through the shop and out into the back parking lot.

“Now, I assume that you don’t want to have to get training wheels, so we’re going to have a quick lesson here and now,” Jimmy smiled.

Mounting his bike, Harry began to slowly wobble off, the comforting hand of Jimmy holding on under his seat to provide extra balance. It wasn’t a fast ride by any means, but by the time that Harry had reached the far side of the parking lot, he was quite proud of himself.

“Not bad for first go,” Jimmy stated. “Now, I’ve found that the faster I go, the easier it is to balance. So turn yourself around and we’ll head back and this time, put a bit of effort into your pedalling.”

Harry walked his bike around in a circle before looking nervously at his instructor. At his encouraging nod, he pushed off. With Jimmy jogging along beside him, Harry picked up his pace. He smiled. This pace _was_ easier to manage.

“Alright, you need to start braking now,” Jimmy instructed. “Brake now! BRAKE!”

Harry fumbled, taking his eyes off of where he was going to find the brake lever beside his hands. Unfortunately, taking his eyes off the road resulted in him not paying attention to where he was going. Moments before his fingers squeezed the brake, he found himself jolted spectacularly over the handlebars. He landed hard, although not nearly as hard as some of his quidditch falls.

Shoving the wheel of his bike off of his legs where it had landed, he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the damage. A few scrapes on his hands and elbows – nothing to worry about. His bike seemed to come out of it in one piece as well.

“That’s the way. If you fall, pick yourself straight back up and get back on again,” Jimmy encouraged. “Ready to try again?”

Harry nodded. “I think I know what I did wrong.”

By the time another hour had passed, Harry felt that he had enough of a handle of the bike to be able to leave. Jimmy had left him practising some time ago, but Harry’d stayed right where he was. He’d found that without the extra pressure of the hand holding him up, he was able to get a better feel for the bike. In some ways, it wasn’t unlike riding a broom. He didn’t think that he was quite a natural, but he was close enough to be getting on with.

After thanking Jimmy for all of his help, Harry wheeled his bike out the front door, turned to the right and headed off down the footpath.

At the first convenient alley, Harry turned in. Slipping behind a dumpster where he’d be harder to see from the road, he pulled his trunk out of his pocket. With one last check to see that he was alone, he resized it. As quickly as he could, he tapped the symbol of the bowerbird, opened the lid and pulled up one of the larger cupboards.

Harry looked doubtfully between the cupboard and the bike before shrugging and trying anyway. At first, Harry was certain that it wasn’t going to fit, but as he put more and more of the bike into the cupboard, the cupboard seemed to start expanding.

“I love magic,” he grinned once the entire bike had been swallowed by the trunk.

After stowing his helmet, Harry once more shrunk his trunk, pocketed it and walked out of the alley.

All that was left now was to spend another night wandering around London before he ventured once more into King’s Cross Station.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Ten Months Ago _

“I want … I want somewhere safe where they can’t find me and take away my magic,” Harry replied as he met the goblin’s gaze.

Slipshard nodded as he considered the statement. “And if this worst comes to pass while you are still in Hogwarts, what are your desires for you magical education?”

“Of course I want to keep learning magic,” Harry replied, shocked that there could be any other option.

Once again, Slipshard sat back and contemplated the boy before him. He turned the problem over and over until, finally, a slow grin spread across his face.

“That answer may just give us possibilities …” he began.

Harry cocked his head at him, intrigued. For the life of him, he couldn’t see what could be done if the worst turned into reality. The hearing that he’d attended that morning had made it clear: he was already on his second warning for breaking the Decree for Underage Wizardry, one more would result in extreme measures being taken – expulsion from Hogwarts, his wand snapped and his magic bound.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked his account manager.

“It’s all in how we interpret the use of your Trust Vault,” Slipshard grinned, his sharpened teeth showing. “Your Trust Vault is to be used primarily for your magical education needs. Any large purchases, for example property, are not allowable from your Trust Vault. However, what if a property was purchased solely to continue your magical education?”

“Even if that was possible,” Harry frowned, “I wouldn’t have enough money in my Trust Vault to pay for it, would I?”

“That, I believe is the beauty of you bringing your concerns to me now,” Slipshard replied. “We have three days before your Trust Vault refills itself to maximum as it does on every September the first. If we use what is in your vault now to pay for most things, then we can use the money after September one to finish off the project.”

“Makes sense,” Harry nodded. Suddenly, his head snapped up. “Why are you helping me, Slipshard? What do you get out of it?”

The goblin sat back in his chair and stared to the point that Harry began to feel very uncomfortable.

“The Potter accounts are in the top five percent of all accounts held here at Gringotts,” Slipshard finally replied. “Unfortunately, while there is no Head of House Potter, those accounts will be left dormant, meaning that neither you nor Gringotts will make any profit from them. By helping you now, I’m assuring that those accounts will become active sooner rather than in another twenty-five or thirty years when your Heir comes of age if, as you fear, your magic is bound.”

Harry bowed as much as he could from where he sat. “Thank you for explaining, Account Manager Slipshard.”

“Very well, let’s start this campaign where we can stab our enemies in the back when they least expect it,” Slipshard stated, pulling parchment and a quill to him.

-oOoOo-

_ Eight and a Half Months Ago _

_Mister Potter,_

_Please find enclosed parchments detailing the work that has already been completed in relation to the project that we discussed. A list of work that is scheduled to be undertaken in the coming weeks is also included. Please peruse the papers carefully and add, subtract or modify any of the work that you wish to have done and reply as soon as possible._

_Regards,_

_Slipshard._

_Potter Account Manager_

With a grin, Harry flipped to the first page, his smile broadening at the heading – Potter Haven.

The name was perfect, one that he himself had come up with when they’d first started this idea. It was a place where he could escape to if ever he needed, a safe port, a safe haven.

Settling himself more comfortably on his bed, Harry drew the curtains around him and opened the folder. The first page outlined the particulars of the land that Slipshard had managed to find for him.

It was a small valley, ninety acres in size, just on the Scottish side of the border. The remains of an old abandoned house stood on the northern end, while down in the southern portion of the valley a small stream emerged from the hillside before tumbling into a tiny loch. The land in between the two landmarks was mostly flat, with great potential for their needs.

As agreed, Slipshard had bought the property the muggle way, utilizing an alias that they’d come up with – Hadrian Evans. For a small fee, all of the appropriate documents had also been created and lodged within the muggle government. Going muggle also meant that Harry’s funds stretched further than they would in the magical world, especially with the currency conversion rate that Slipshard had offered.

The next two pages detailed how Potter Haven could be found, including a small map of the surrounding area.

After that, page after page was dedicated to the way the old house had been completely demolished and a new, three story manor was built in its place. The setup of various rooms and their use in his magical education was detailed for him to peruse. Furniture purchases needed to be approved. And then came the pages outlining the plans for a pair of greenhouses and a specialised dome for the housing of the magical creatures that Harry would study.

Finally, Slipshard had included a list of the various wards and protections that Potter Haven was being offered, including a one-use-only security measure that Harry felt sure he’d be a fool to pass up, regardless of the price. Those wards also ensured that any magic performed in Potter Haven would be completely undetectable to the rest of the world.

He’d been sitting on the bed for hours, reading through everything over and over and making notes for the letter that he needed to write, before his stomach protested, bringing him back to the present.

Stretching to alleviate the kink in his back, Harry gathered up the folder and stowed it safely away for the day that he fervently hoped would never come.

-oOoOo-

Squeezing the lever, Harry slowed his bike to a slow glide.

He was hot, tired and incredibly sweaty. His butt hurt from sitting on the tiny seat for over an hour and his legs ached from the constant pedalling. Thankfully though, his final destination was close.

Momentarily closing his eyes, Harry sighed. It’d been a long, long day.

Sneaking into King’s Cross hadn’t been as difficult as he’d thought. If there had been any magicals around, then he’d been oblivious to them and them to him. He’d managed to sleep most of the way which had helped to pass the time. There’d been a couple of hours wait between the end of the train ride and the time that the bus departed. Time enough for a late lunch and a quick walk through the town.

The hardest part of the day had been in Kelso. It’d been a frustrating half an hour of wandering around before he’d managed to find somewhere secluded enough to risk expanding his trunk and retrieving his bike. Then had _come_ the most gruelling part of the journey.

Somewhere around here, Harry knew, was the path that he needed to turn on to. He’d been searching for it for the past couple of miles and was starting to believe that he’d missed it when the faintest trace of dirt leading off to his right made him smile.

As he came to a stop, Harry peered down the dirt track. It was definitely wide enough for a car, but was it the right one? On impulse, he turned to investigate only to stop just as suddenly as he’d begun. A sign half-buried in a patch of long grass caught his attention.

_Clempshaw Lane._

A smile broke out on Harry’s face and he pushed off to head down the track. He knew from reading Slipshard’s directions that there was only one thing at the end of this track – his new property.

Rounding a bend, Harry pulled up short. Laid out before him from where he stood on the top of a small hill, was a valley. Brilliant green grass stretched away and down. Dots of purple heather stood out amongst the hills that encircled it and off in the distance, a flash of blue marked the small loch that he knew was at the valley’s lowest point.

Of the house, greenhouses and animal dome that he knew should be there, there was no sign.

With a frown, he stepped forward, only to feel a wave of intense magic wash over him, like a prickling all along his skin. When nothing else happened, he took another half dozen steps. And then he saw it.

The dirt track at his feet which he’d thought had petered out, now continued as a wide path of cobblestones. It wound down the hill before him, leading to the front porch of the house. House, though, wasn’t quite the right word, Harry decided. It was simply too big for such a mundane word. Manor, he decided, would fit better.

It was huge, fully three stories tall and judging by the windows that he could see facing him, held a half dozen rooms on each level just on this side of it. It’d been beautifully crafted with a base of blue limestone that reached half-way up the first floor before turning into white sandstone for the rest of the walls. Around each window and door, more of the blue limestone had been used. A slate roof capped off the elegant structure.

As Harry’s eyes roved over his new home, he searched for the greenhouses. Not seeing them, he decided that they must be hidden behind the house. There were currently no gardens to be seen anywhere around the manor, but Harry supposed that that made sense – Potter Haven had been designed as a place to continue his education, not as a primary home. That, of course, didn’t mean that he couldn’t do some gardening in his spare time.

Sitting back on his bike once more, Harry rode down the cobblestone path.

Parking his bike against the nearest column of the expansive front porch, he slowly approached the massive mahogany double doors. While there were door handles, there was no key-hole, not that Harry had a key anyway.

Following the instructions that Slipshard had left him, Harry flicked his wrist, making his wand jump into his hand.

“I, Harry James Potter, also known as Hadrian James Evans, hereby claim Potter Haven as my own,” he intoned, his wand lightly touching the door with the tip of his wand.

Immediately, a brilliant golden glow encompassed not only his entire body, but also the double doors in front of him. Then, with a clearly heard click, both doors swung open before him.

As Harry stepped over the threshold, the feeling of being drenched in icy water washed over him. He stood stock still, knowing precisely what was happening. When the feeling had finally faded away, he took one more step and bent to pick up the piece of parchment that had flashed into being on the marble floor before him.

_Thief’s Downfall – Single Usage Analysis_

_Charms detected and neutralized:_

_Tracking charm on the personage of Harry James Potter, aka Hadrian James Evans_  
_Tracking charm on trunk_  
 _Tracking charm on wrist wand holster_  
 _Tracking charm on wand_  
 _Underage monitoring charm on wand_

“Thank you, Slipshard,” Harry grinned, mentally noting the need to send a proper thank you to the goblin later.

That single usage of the Thief’s Downfall had been one of the highest costs involved in the entirety of Potter Haven but well worth every galleon.

Closing the doors behind him, Harry turned to take in the enormous entry hall before him.

The room was big, nearly as large as the entirety of the downstairs portion of number four Privet Drive. Before him, a pair of grand curved staircases led the way to the second floor. Between them, a pair of large urns bracketed a mahogany door. To either side of the marble floor, two sets of double doors led further into the house.

Deciding to start his exploration of the manor downstairs, Harry crossed the floor and started with the door leading under the stairs. Inside was an empty room that he supposed could be used for storage or perhaps as a cloak room. Pulling his head back out, he closed the door and turned to the right.

Choosing the set of doors towards the front half of the manor, Harry ventured inside. There, he found a long sitting room. A magical painting of a Scottish countryside, complete with a herd of deer, a portion of a forest and a large loch in the distance took pride of place on the wall opposite the windows. On the far side of the room, past the half-dozen comfy-looking couches and low tables, were a second set of doors.

Crossing to these, he opened them to find himself in a grand library. Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling along all of the walls with only the occasional breaks for windows, paintings and small tables. In front of him, a gleaming metal circular staircase provided access to the second floor of the library. From where Harry was standing, he could see that most of the floor above him was open with a banister running around the mezzanine level.

A collection of tables, chairs and sofas filled out the rest of the lower portion of the library. A half dozen ladders attached to a railing on the ceiling and with wheels on the bottom of them, allowed access to the higher bookshelves.

As Harry strolled along the shelves, he noticed that for the most part they were empty. This section of the room could easily hold thousands of books, but at the moment, only a couple of hundred were available. Looking closer, he found that the books had been arranged into sections, each one dedicated to a single topic taught at Hogwarts.

There were all seven core subjects that he’d been learning for the past two years, plus one for each of the five electives that he’d had the option of choosing for the coming years – arithmancy, ancient runes, muggle studies, divination and care of magical creatures. And then there were groupings of books for all of the subjects that Hogwarts no longer offered. Harry marvelled at the variety of subjects – magical studies, spell crafting, beginning healing, healing, muggle technology, beginning alchemy, alchemy, mind arts, magical etiquette and customs, business and lastly, fencing and sword fighting.

Grinning, Harry couldn’t wait to start exploring some of those topics. Briefly, his mind flashed to Hermione and the envy that she’d have if she knew that he now had his own library. As soon as he had time, he’d make sure to add the books in his trunk in here as well.

Leaving the upstairs portion of the library for later, Harry chose the far doors to exit through.

This next room, which he thought was immediately behind the front sitting room, turned out to be a room dedicated to the arts. Small tables, chairs and groups of sofas were interspersed with easels, painting supplies and a small collection of musical instruments – a harp, bodhran, horn, lute and a set of bagpipes. The back wall of the room was what really captured Harry’s interest, though.

Huge glass walls provided an immaculate view into the valley beyond. From here, Harry could see all the way down to the loch. To his left were the twin greenhouses, sitting side by side, a cobblestone path providing access from the back patio. Harry was sure that during those times when storms rolled over the valley, the views of purple thunderheads and lightning cracking across the sky would be breath-taking.

 Forcing himself onwards, Harry left the room to find himself, as expected, back in the entry hall. Crossing it, he opened the doors leading to the front section of the manor into the left wing.

Here was the manor’s formal dining room with a long table and seating enough for two dozen people. Continuing on in the same manner as the right wing, Harry exited through the far door into the kitchen. It was a perfect blend of old world and new with stainless steel bench tops, an enormous wood stove and cupboards and cabinets enough to house the food, pots, pans and crockery and cutlery for a small army. Opening up some of these at random, Harry frowned as he realised that he couldn’t find any food.

A small set of stairs leading downwards caught his attention and he scampered towards it, thinking that down there would be a pantry. What he found instead, was a massive basement large enough and sturdy enough to be used as a duelling range. This idea was emphasised by the large array of weapons hanging from one wall – swords, knives, spears, bows and arrows and shields.

Satisfied that he’d seen all there was to see, Harry headed back to the kitchen. A coldbox caught his attention and he looked inside, but it too was devoid of any food. Leaving that problem for now, Harry continued on in his explorations.

The final section of the ground floor contained a smaller, more practical-looking dining room and a formal receiving room, complete with a fireplace large enough for an adult to stand inside of. This, he knew, was a floo-capable fireplace, but one that had not been connected at all.

Deciding to leave the greenhouses and whatever else could be found outside until tomorrow, Harry headed upstairs.

Apart from the second level of the library, which currently housed only empty bookshelves, the floor was dedicated to bedrooms. Four bedrooms, each with their own bathroom were on the right hand side of the staircase, six bedrooms set up like the others, on the left. A pair of circular staircases, identical to the one in the library, stood at either end of this floor leading to the third floor.

This floor was dedicated to his education. A fully equipped and stocked potions lab and storeroom stood at one end, while half a dozen other rooms seemed set up like mini-classrooms. All had a large blackboard at one end that could be used for making notes with a large desk and chairs not far in front of it. The rest of each room was bare, waiting to be put into use for whatever spell-work was needed.

A single ladder hidden in a small cupboard provided access to the attic. Harry only needed to put his head up there for a minute to determine that it was one vast vacant area, with the exception of the large telescope positioned underneath a section of the roof that could open outwards.

Potter Haven, or at least the manor part of it, was everything that he’d ever dreamed that it could be. Here he could remain hidden while continuing with his studies until he worked out how he could clear his name. Assuming that such a thing was even possible.

By the time that he’d finished exploring, Harry was incredibly hungry. With the vain hope that he’d missed something earlier, he descended to the kitchen but, as hard as he looked, it seemed the house was empty of edibles.

Dejectedly, Harry made his way back upstairs, picked a room at random and collapsed onto the bed, determined to do something about the food situation in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

A gentle hoot pulled Harry out of sleep. Rolling over, he reached out, snagged his glasses and peered blearily around the room. Movement at the window caught his attention and he was up and stumbling across the room as fast as he could.

“Hedwig!” he greeted as he opened the window to allow his familiar entry. “You found the place okay then?”

A hoot followed by a short flap of her wings bringing him to his shoulder gave him his answer.

“I missed you girl,” he crooned, moving back to sit on the bed as he stroked her breast feathers.

Running his mind back through the tour of the manor, Harry frowned. He couldn’t remember seeing any owl perches. He’d have to find some from somewhere for Hedwig.

“Just a minute, girl, I think I’ve still got some owl treats in my trunk.”

Hedwig flew off his shoulder to perch on the chair to his desk while Harry began rummaging around in his trunk. The thought of food, though, caught his stomachs’ attention and it growled. He ignored it. This wasn’t any different from what he’d experienced countless times at the Dursleys, so he knew that he could wait at little longer.

After spoiling Hedwig with a number of treats and some extra petting, Harry headed off to the shower. As he was scrubbing three days of dirt, sweat and grime away, he planned his day out.

There was a small village not far away and that, he knew, was going to be his first destination. Hopefully, he’d find somewhere to breakfast there, before buying up the food that he’d need to see him through a few days. Once he returned, exploring some more of Potter Haven sounded the most interesting.

Dressed in some clean clothes, Harry made his way back downstairs and out the front doors. His bike was exactly where he’d left it – propped up against one of the pillars of the porch.

He swung one leg over before stopping, frowning and getting back off. A quick cushioning charm on the seat later and he was back on again.

The ride to the village was pleasant in the early morning light. It was still early enough in the day to ensure that the sun didn’t have any bite to it and the gentle breeze felt cool on his face.

As he glided into the village, Harry looked curiously around. Double storied homes with neat little gardens in full bloom, lined the main street. Signs pointed out the way to the primary school and half a dozen bed and breakfast places that could be found off of the side streets. He rolled past the small village green before noting the location of the village shop.

A large red-stone building caught his attention and he pulled up in front. A set of tables with attached bench seating out on the grass to either side of the door told him that this was the place that he was looking for. Looking up at the large sign over the door, he nodded.

_The Plough and Shear_

Leaving his bike leaning against the wall outside, Harry pushed open the heavy oak door and entered.

“Mornin’ young fella, you’re out and about early,” he was greeted.

Harry looked up at the elderly man behind the counter at the far side of the bar and gave a small smile.

“I was hoping to find somewhere to have some breakfast,” Harry replied as he walked across the room.

“Well, then, you’ve come to the right place,” the man smiled broadly making the many wrinkles on his face as deep as furrows. “What can I be gettin’ you?”

Noticing a menu chalked on the big board behind the man, Harry eagerly scanned it. The rumble of his stomach made his mind up for him.

“The big breakfast, please.”

With a nod, the man disappeared through the nearby door only to reappear moments later.

“The wife’s firing up the cooker now,” the man said, “should be ready in fifteen minutes or so. Where’d you like to sit?”

Harry looked around the large tavern. To his left, a dozen or so tables and chairs were set up in such a way to tell everyone that this area was more the restaurant part of _The Plough and Shear_ , while to his right, the room was outfitted with high benches and stools around a clear open area. Against the far wall was a small stage area that Harry supposed bands could use to provide the patrons with music.

“Is it alright if I stay here?” he finally asked, indicating the closest stool set around the counter.

“Sure, wherever you feel most comfortable,” the man shrugged. Then, leaning across the bar, he thrust forward a hand. “Angus McHenry.”

“Ha…Hadrian Evans,” Harry replied shaking the man’s hand.

Later on he’d release the sigh of relief that passed through him for remembering his alias.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Angus commented, his grey-green eyes taking in Harry’s appearance.

“I just moved here,” Harry replied, trying to be vague. “My family’s just bought a property just out of town.”

“Well they’ve certainly picked the best part of the country to settle in,” Angus stated. “And this time of year’s a good time to see the countryside at its best. Mind you, the winter’s got its own charm when the hills are covered in snow.”

They were interrupted then as a dumpy woman with long grey hair tied back in a braid bustled out of the kitchen.

“Here you go, love,” she said as she placed a tall glass of orange juice in front of Harry.

“Thanks,” he smiled.

“That was me wife, Jillian,” Angus smiled softly at the woman’s parting back. “It’s just the two of us here running the place now.”

“Oh?” Harry said, unsure how he was supposed to reply.

“Me son, Jack, his wife and the kids moved off to Glasgow a couple of years ago. I’d always dreamed that he’d take over the _Plough_ and let me retire,” Angus confided. “We’re not as busy here as we once were and the place sometimes feels a mite big for just the two of us old folk.”

Once again Harry was unsure how to respond. Thankfully, the return of Jillian with a plate full of eggs, bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes and toast filled the silence. As Harry ate, Angus continued chatting away, filling Harry in on the life of the village and how to find all of the stores in the town, not to mention all of Angus’ friends.

Finally satisfied, Harry sat back and drank the last of his juice.

“That was really good, Angus. Thanks,” Harry sighed.

“Glad you liked it, Hadrian,” Angus replied.

“Well, I best get going,” Harry said as he stood. “I’ve got a bit of shopping to do.”

With a final nod and wave, Harry made for the door.

“Make sure you come back soon,” Angus called.

-oOoOo-

Harry stared morosely into the cupboard that he’d just been filling. Even after unpacking his bottomless bookbag of the groceries that he’d procured in town, the shelves seemed fairly bare. And the coldbox wasn’t much better. There was enough food for three, maybe four days and then he’d be back on his bike making another trip into town.

Even when he still lived with the Dursleys at Privet Drive, he’d never had to worry about shopping for food – Aunt Petunia had never trusted him with any money so had kept that particular chore for herself. The rest of the house-keeping – cooking, cleaning, washing, gardening, whatever – had been Harry’s domain for longer than he could remember. But never the shopping. It seemed that he had a new skill to learn.

In order to distract himself from the state of his cupboards, Harry wandered back outside.

A large patio extended the full length of the back of the house. At the moment, it was bare, but Harry could imagine that with some potted plants and a table and chairs, maybe a barbeque, it’d make a very relaxing area, particularly with the stunning views down into the valley of Potter Haven.

Extending out from the patio, was a cobblestone path that meandered across the lawn to the two greenhouses. Harry opened the door to the closest to see a massive glass room lined with tiered benches along each wall and an additional bench running down the centre of the room. It was the perfect place to house dozens and dozens of plants. Except that there currently weren’t any plants to see.

Already suspecting what he was going to find, Harry rushed across to the second greenhouse. This one, just as he’d thought, was a perfect copy of its partner. They were two massive glass rooms awaiting the plants to turn them into greenhouses.

Closing the door behind him, Harry continued down the path to the steps that descended to a large flat area partway down the valley. Here, a door was set into a circular stone wall that reached up to his chest. Above the wall, a slight shimmering dome extended some twenty feet into the air.

Stepping inside, Harry examined the area that the goblins had set up for him for his Care of Magical Creatures class. The dome was nearly an hundred feet across and designed with the help of runes that would keep magical creatures confined inside. The magic even extended deep into the earth to stop burrowing animals from escaping.

The only downside at the moment was that it was completely barren. Not knowing when or even if Potter Haven would ever be used, the goblins hadn’t included any animals into the dome, just as they’d left the greenhouses bare.

From the last vault statement that he’d received, Harry knew that until September one rolled around, he was incredibly short on money. All of the wards and runes that he’d paid for on top of the valley and the manor, had left him nearly broke. Most of what was left had gone into paying Lucius Malfoy for making him free his house elf.

_Oh,_ he suddenly realised, _there’s the sale of the basilisk, too, I suppose. But who knows how long that’ll take?_

But then, the more that Harry thought about it, even after he once again had some funds, he had absolutely no idea where he was going to find the magical plants and animals that he was going to need.

He had half a mind to continue exploring down the valley, but decided to leave that for later. It was time to unpack and settle into his new home.

-oOoOo-

Harry walked into the library, his wand held out in front of him, his Goblin Postal Service Box tucked into the crook of his other arm. In front of him, a massive stack of books floated across the room before coming to rest on the closest table.

Popping the box down for now, Harry turned away from the glowing owl etching on its top. Even before he’d opened his trunk, he’d known that it’d be full of mail waiting for him, but he wasn’t quite ready to face it just yet.

Instead, Harry began to slowly sort the books that he’d brought down from his trunk into the shelves on his new library. Each shelf was dedicated to a single subject making it fairly easy to see where all of the new books would fit best. By the time that Harry was left with a small stack, he knew that he’d need to start a new section, this one dedicated to muggle fiction books.

Finally, the steady pulse of the Goblin Postal Service box could be ignored no longer.

With a steadying sigh, he opened the box and peered inside.

A dozen or so letters met his eye and he pulled them out by the handful. Underneath it all were a few newspapers and a familiar looking package. A quick tap of his wand resized the package to a small box with the logo of _Hermione’s Book Nook_ in one corner.

Smiling to himself, Harry opened the box and pulled out the three books that Beth had given him in this month’s shipment. His smile widened as he realised two covered glamour charms and that the third was a magical survival guide for camping in forests.

_Dear Harry,_ the accompanying note read.

_I don’t know how you do it, Harry, but it seems that you’ve gotten yourself into some sort of trouble again. Mickey and I are praying that you’re alright. Please let us know as soon as you can that you’re safe. We’re quite worried about you._

_I’ve also taken out a subscription in your name for_ The Daily Prophet _so that you can see what’s happening in the rest of the world._

_Be safe, Harry._

_All our love, Beth and Mickey._

Touched, Harry put the note aside and reached for the papers. Only two of them were _Daily Prophets_ ; the other was actually a magazine of some sort. Turning it over, Harry frowned at the strange blurry photograph. One glance at the accompanying headline – “Is this the first picture of the elusive crumple-horned snorkack?” – left little doubt as to what the magazine was: _The Quibbler_.

Seeing the magazine, reminded Harry of the promise that he’d made to Luna. As soon as he was done here, he planned on heading straight back up to his trunk to grab his notes from the year and copy them to send to Luna. On second thought, he decided to make an extra set and sent them off to Colin as well. After so many months petrified, they’d both need all the help that they could get to prepare for the exams waiting for them in September.

Laying aside the papers and magazine, Harry turned his attention to the envelopes.

Most, he saw, contained a brilliant yellow stripe down the middle. Some, in addition to the yellow stripe, had a bright purple one as well. One or two also sported a deep orange stripe. Picking up one of the latter ones, Harry noticed a small piece of parchment affixed to the envelope.

_Compulsion charm detected and neutralised. Portkey detected and neutralised. Tracking charm detected and eliminated._

He shivered simply at the thought of what could have happened had he not had his mail redirected through the Goblin Postal Service.

Picking up one of the few envelopes without any stripes on it, he opened it carefully and pulled out the parchment inside.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_We have received intelligence of a stunning hex performed by you at twenty past five on the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three, on the muggle side of King’s Cross Station in the presence of multiple muggles._

_This is a severe breach of the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic as well as a severe breach of the Statute of Secrecy._

_In accordance with these breaches, in conjunction with the multiple breaches that you have already performed and the hearing that you have attended, you are informed that you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Please stay at your current location. A member of the DMLE will be with you shortly to snap your wand._

_Regards,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office._

“Well, that wasn’t exactly a surprise,” Harry muttered while wondering who’d be stupid enough to stay put if they knew that someone was coming to snap their wand.

The next letter was from his godfather.

_Harry,_

_I know that you’re probably feeling as though everything’s all your fault at the moment and that your imagination’s probably running wild with scenario after scenario of bad things that are about to happen. But you need to come home. Remus and I have been talking to Madam Bones and we think we understand what’s happened._

_You need to trust us Harry. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. I won’t lie and say that it isn’t going to take a bit to sort out, but running away isn’t going to solve anything. Trust me, Harry. Come home. Or at the very least, let me know that you’re alright._

_Sirius._

Not sure what to think, he picked up the next random letter.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_It has been brought to our attention by the Department for the Improper Use of Magic that you have violated not only the Decree for the Restriction for Underage Magic, but also the Statute of Secrecy._

_In accordance with the Law of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy, Section Eleven, of Seventeen Forty-Two, you are hereby ordered to surrender yourself to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for questioning prior to formal charges being laid. A trial date will be set immediately after your questioning has been concluded._

_This matter is of the utmost seriousness and failure to voluntarily surrender yourself within twenty-four hours of this notice will result in further charges being laid._

_Jeremiah Longfellow_

_Senior Auror_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

By the time that he reached the end of the letter, Harry’s hand was shaking so badly that he had trouble focussing on the date and time at the top of the letter. Once it had finally registered, he sunk into the closest chair. That letter had been sent nearly three days ago, well past the deadline that he’d been given.

Morbidly, Harry plucked up another letter and read it. That one was just like the last one, only with slightly stronger language. The next four were more of the same. Letting the last letter fall from his fingers, Harry sat back in his chair, his eyes unfocused.

One thing was perfectly clear: even if he’d wanted to go home to Sirius, there was no way that he could any more. Going home meant only one thing: being locked up. Visions of being sent to Azkaban flashed through his mind and he felt himself panicking.

After what seemed hours but was really probably only ten minutes or so, Harry managed to get his breathing back under control.

The letters had clarified one important point. He was totally alone now. Oh, Beth and Sirius and his friends might still send him letters, but he couldn’t respond. Hedwig was too easily recognised and he hadn’t set up his Goblin Postal Service Box to take out-going mail. And there was no way that he was going to go back to Diagon Alley, not even charmed with glamours from the book that Beth had sent him.

And it wasn’t as though he could even bring someone to him to keep him company either. Sirius and Remus and Beth all had lives to live. Professor McGonagall would be busy teaching. His friends had their family for the next couple of months and then Hogwarts after that. No, there was no one he knew that was free to help him the way that he knew that he was going to need.

Suddenly, he sat up a little straighter, the barest hint of an idea flashing through his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, surveyed the eager faces arrayed before him. Of the six, four were aurors loyal to him rather than to their own department. The other two were a necessary evil. Both were small time thugs, muggleborns both, who owed Cornelius a favour or two.

“Now, you all know your objective?” he asked. At their nods, he continued. “We’re pretty sure that Harry Potter has left the magical world and is out hiding somewhere in the muggle world. He’s not going to be easy to find out there, but it is imperative that we do.”

“Do not let his _title_ lull you into a false sense of security,” Delores Umbridge interrupted from slightly behind him. “Potter may be famous, he might be _The-Boy-Who-Lived,_ but _no one_ is above the law, especially a half-blood boy.”

At Lucius Malfoy’s approving nod, Cornelius continued.

“Auror Dawlish is our point man here. Any tips or leads you find, pass them along to him. Auror Stevenson, your normal job is monitoring the big board for unexplained magical occurrences in Great Britain. That fits in perfectly with our target. He’s broken the Decree of Underage Sorcery and the Statute of Secrecy before, he’ll do it again. Watch the board and let us know if you see something suspicious.”

The small woman nodded curtly, making her shoulder length hair bob about her face.

“Aurors Daniels and Higginson. In your folder, you’ll find a list of known associates of Potter. Put them under a careful watch. He’s sure to contact them sometime and we need to know the instant that he does.”

The two men, one larger than average, the other smaller than average with matching buzz cut hairstyles, nodded before opening their folders and beginning to read.

“John,” Cornelius said to his lead auror. “I want you to keep your ear to the ground in the DMLE and especially around Madam Bones. If they find out something, I want to know about it. As for you two, use whatever contacts you have out in the muggle world to try to find him that way.”

“He’s got muggle relatives, don’t he?” the rat-faced man at the end of the table asked. “We’ll start there.”

“And we’ll check out the public records office, too.” The other continued. “He’s bound to show up in some school somewhere or other.”

“ _Hem hem_ ,” Umbridge interrupted. “Just remember that this boy is a danger to our society. He needs to be taken care of. One way or the other.”

“One last thing,” Cornelius said. “Remember that this task force is a secret of the highest level. You are all only to report to me.”

Cornelius looked up into the sparkling eyes of Lucius Malfoy. It was clear that Lord Malfoy approved of everything that had been decided here today.

-oOoOo-

A steady pounding in his head brought unwanted consciousness. A long, low groan escaped him and immediately a pair of cool hands were gently probing his head, forehead and neck.

“I take it you’re in pain,” a voice stated. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“Head,” he managed to croak.

“That’s to be expected. Here, drink this,” that same voice, a female he now realised, insisted.

A vial of some sort was pushed into his hands before both hands and vial were guided up to his mouth. He shuddered slightly at the ghastly taste of the pain relief potion, but knowing the taste, he forced himself to wait the required minute before blessed relief washed over him.

“Ahh,” he sighed as the pain diminished to a dull ache that could easily be ignored.

“My glasses,” he asked.

The familiar wire frames were pushed into his hands and he put them on before blinking around the unfamiliar setting.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re in St. Mungo’s,” the medi-witch replied.

He took in the unfamiliar visage of the blue-robed woman. Her hair was wrapped up on top of her head in a neat bun, not unlike Minerva’s, but where the Transfiguration teacher’s head was a solid grey, the hair of this witch was a chestnut brown. Lines around her brown eyes appeared as she wrote some notes into a chart in her hand.

“May I ask what happened? Why am I here?”

Looking up from her chart, she gave him the tiniest of smiles. “There are some people outside. If you’re feeling up to it, I’ll invite them in and they can fill you in on the details.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds like a good idea. Thank you,” he replied.

Snapping her chart closed, the medi-witch slipped out the door. The peace that he was left in lasted for only a couple of minutes before three people that he recognised filed into the room.

The first through the door was a severe looking woman with short grey hair and a monocle in her left eye. Her red robes identified her as a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The second woman he would have known anywhere. She’d been one of his closest friends for longer than he cared to remember although he was quite sure that he’d never seen that mixture of anger, exasperation, relief and sympathy on her face before. The last was a tall, handsome man with jet black hair that he could have done without.

“Amelia, Minerva, Sirius,” he greeted.

“Albus. How are you feeling?” Madam Bones replied with a nod.

“A little the worse for wear to be honest,” he replied frowning internally at the amount of effort that it was taking him to produce his trademark eye twinkle.

“You’ve had us worried, Albus,” Minerva told him as she whirled her wand to conjure three hard-backed chairs for his visitors.

“I must admit to some confusion,” he said lightly. “I can’t seem to remember what it was that happened that landed me in St. Mungo’s. Nor how long I’ve been here.”

“You were brought in five days ago,” Madam Bones stated.

“Really? That long? I take it that I was involved in some kind of accident? Perhaps something that caused me to strike my head? Quite hard, too, I imagine,” he speculated.

“That’s one way of describing a concrete pillar,” Minerva replied, her lips thinner than he’d ever been on the receiving end of before.

“If I could trouble you for the story?” he asked.

“What’s the last thing that you remember?” Madam Bones asked.

Albus Dumbledore leant back on his pillow and closed his eyes as he thought.

“I remember the leaving feast,” he began slowly, “so obviously we’re now into the month of July. I seem to recall standing at the window of my office and watching the Hogwarts Express steam off as it took the students home for the holidays. After that … after that, I’m afraid that my mind is a blank.”

“The healers did warn us to expect some memory loss,” Minerva said to the woman seated beside her.

“In that case, I will go through the facts as we know them, Albus,” Madam Bones told him. “Please feel free to interrupt me if you remember anything.”

At his nod of agreement, she continued.

“A little after the Hogwarts Express arrived in King’s Cross Station, Mister Harry Potter was in the middle of a conversation with Miss Hermione Granger on the muggle side of the station, when you suddenly appeared beside them. A few minutes later, you grasped Mister Potter’s arm and informed him that you were there to take him to his Aunt and Uncle’s place.

“When Mister Potter refused to go with you, citing the magical vow that he had taken back in August of last year, you dismissed his objections, grasped his arm and began dragging him towards a pillar where you intended to apparate the two of you away.

“Mister Potter began to fight against you, loudly stating that he did not wish to go with you but before anyone could intervene, a massive burst of accidental magic erupted from Mister Potter. From what we can determine, it seems likely that Mister Potter sent an overpowered stunner at you, centred on the hand that was holding Mister Potter’s arm. Consequently, you were sent flying across the station until you collided with a concrete pillar approximately twenty feet away.

“Everyone else within a radius of forty feet from Mister Potter was also knocked to the ground. Within minutes, both aurors and obliviators were on the scene, containing the muggles and reversing the damage to the Statute of Secrecy that Mister Potter caused. Due to your injuries, you were brought straight here to St. Mungo’s where you have been in a coma until you woke up a short time ago.”

Albus’ mind was awhirl with the information. He didn’t remember any of it. He could certainly understand his need to ensure that young Harry was safely ensconced in his relative’s house and he’d already determined that the magical vow wouldn’t be a factor at all. But that burst of magic that Amelia described bore much thinking about. Obviously, Harry felt that his magic was being threatened and his magic reacted in the only way that it could to protect itself. But the sheer size of the blast of magic, if true, was staggering. And highly worrisome.

“What were the extent of my injuries?” Albus asked, intent on discovering how long he was likely to be confined to the hospital. It seemed that he had work that needed to be done for the Greater Good and the sooner he was released, the sooner he could get to it.

“Apart from cracking your skull, you had three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder,” Minerva told him. “While your physical injuries have already been healed, I believe that the healers will be wanting you to remain here for a while yet to ensure that you have not suffered any damage to your brain.”

Albus frowned slightly at that last bit. His mind was his greatest asset. If any damage had occurred …. It seemed that he wouldn’t be leaving St. Mungo’s any time soon.

“And what of young Harry?” he asked.

“Harry’s gone,” Sirius spoke bitterly for the first time. “Took off the instant that it happened and no one’s seen or heard from him since.”

“We know that he would have received a letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office along with a letter from the DMLE, stating that, as this was such a major breach, not to mention that it was in sight of so many muggles, he was expelled from Hogwarts and was facing not only having his wand snapped, but also criminal charges,” Amelia stated.

Albus’ eyes closed in pain. He could feel that headache starting to come back just at the thought of the consequences of what he’d just heard. It seemed that he wouldn’t have the luxury he needed to have his mind checked out by the healers here. The world _needed_ Harry more than it knew. And more than that, it needed a Harry Potter free and with his magic intact.

“Albus, what in the world could you have been thinking?” Minerva asked heatedly.

“I imagine that, as his magical guardian, I was ensuring that he was returned to his relatives for the holidays where he belonged,” he replied.

“What did I tell you, Sirius Black! This is all your fault!” Minerva snapped.

“I know, I know, you and Remus have both been telling me the same thing for days now,” Sirius replied, running a hand through his hair.

“Fix this. Now!” Minerva ordered.

Albus raised an eyebrow in confusion at the man who was now up and pacing along the end of his bed. Finally, Sirius stopped and spun towards the bed.

“I guess that there’s no other way to say this than to just come straight out and say it,” Sirius said, his coal black eyes boring into Albus’ sparkling blue ones. “You’re not Harry’s legal guardian.”

“I beg your pardon,” Albus replied through the thumping of his heart, sure that he hadn’t heard correctly.

“You’re not Harry’s legal guardian,” Sirius repeated. “Back at Christmas, Harry, Remus, Minerva and I had a long talk and we decided between us that we needed to provide a safer and more loving home life than what Harrry’s had for the past decade. So Minerva and I filed the papers with the Ministry straight after Christmas. She and I share joint guardianship of Harry.”

Dumbledore stared at the absurdity being sprouted in front of him. _He_ was Harry’s guardian. _He_ was the only one capable of knowing what was best for the boy, both now and in the future. And _he_ was the Supreme Mugwamp! Those papers shouldn’t have been filed without his knowledge or consent. But the way that all three of his visitors were looking at him, he knew that no matter what he knew to be for the Greater Good, his plans had been derailed somewhat.

Suddenly, a fact lodged itself in the forefront of his mind and he blanched.

“When exactly did this change in guardianship occur?” he asked woodenly, already suspecting the answer.

“The papers were filed on the twenty-seventh of December and signed off on the twenty-ninth,” Sirius replied.

Albus closed his eyes as a groan escaped him. Just as he’d figured. From the twenty-ninth of December last year, he was no longer legally Harry’s guardian. And he had visited Molly Weasley the day the Hogwarts Express took the children back to the castle, on the fifth of January. Which meant only one thing: that that blasted Betrothal Contract between Harry and young Ginevra was invalid. His plans of slipping young Harry under the influence of the Weasley family and subsequently further under his own guidance were in tatters.

“Albus? Are you alright?” Minerva asked.

“Just my head, Minerva,” he replied. “I think that I can feel my headache returning.”

“In that case, perhaps we should continue this later,” Madam Bones announced.

Just as the three of them were filing out of the room, the medi-witch from earlier stuck her head in through the door.

“Excuse me, Mister Dumbledore, but there’s a woman out here insisting on visiting you,” she said.

“Who is it?” he asked, not really in the mood right then to entertain visitors. The last lot had been bad enough.

“She says her name is Molly Weasley.”

A loud groan escaped him. Suddenly, he felt every one of his one hundred and fifty-three years. If there was one person that he _did not_ want to see, it was the Weasley matriarch.

Unfortunately, that decision was taken from him as Molly bustled past the Medi-witch into his room.

_Where’s my wand?_ Albus thought as he looked wildly from one side of his bed to the other. _Maybe I can simply obliviate the woman before she finds out and gets up a head of steam._


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter slowly turned around in a full circle. His right hand was slightly away from his body allowing him unimpeded access to his wand if he had to flick it out of his wrist holster.

The Scottish highlands around him were brilliantly lit up in the early morning sunlight. Deep greens and browns and flashes of purple dotted the hills and valleys around him. Lining the laneway that led to Potter Haven, small yellow flowers could be seen here and there on the hedges. Behind him, the valley appeared deceptively empty. Outside of the wards surrounding the valley, all appeared deserted.

He’d made the decision the night before to attempt this mad idea out here and in the early morning light, long before any sane people would be out of bed. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure that his idea would even work at all. But at least outside of the wards it had a chance.

When he and Slipshard had designed the ward system that surrounded Potter Haven, it’d been decided that only his own magical signature would be accepted. In order for anyone else to enter, be they magical or mundane, their names would need to be added into the Ward Book that he’d found in the reception room behind a panel near the main fireplace, exactly where Slipshard had said that it could be found.

Even now, Harry had yet to add this person’s name to the book. Only after they’d talked, assuming of course that his plan worked and they’d come to an agreement, would the name be added.

Taking a deep breath, he took one last look around to make sure that he was totally alone before uttering the words to see if his idea would work or not.

“Dobby the House Elf!”

As the minutes slowly began to mount, Harry was sure that he’d guessed wrong. Finally, he decided to give up. Just as he turned to make his way back into the valley, though, there was a sharp _crack_ behind him.

Harry spun around, his eyes quickly settling on the source of the noise.

“Dobby?”

The little house elf nodded, his large, bat-like ears flapping wildly as he did so. Harry looked him over, taking in the rag of a pillowcase that Dobby still wore. It was even dirtier and more frayed than the last time that he’d seen it months ago in Dumbledore’s office. Thankfully, the many bandages that Dobby had been sporting back then had gone, although his body looked a lot thinner and slightly greyer than it once had been. Only his large tennis ball green eyes were the same.

“Mister Harry Potter Sir called Dobby?” the little elf asked.

“Yes, Dobby, I did,” Harry smiled. “Thank you for coming.”

“Mister Harry Potter Sir thanks Dobby. Dobby always knew that Mister Harry Potter Sir was a great wizard,” Dobby wailed.

“Um, okay,” Harry began, unsure how to calm the elf down. “Dobby, are you able to talk to me at the moment or do you have somewhere that you have to be?”

“Oh no, Dobby has nowhere to be,” Dobby replied, his ears flapping wildly as he shook his head. “Dobby is a free elf now with no family to look after.”

“That’s great, Dobby,” Harry beamed, happy that the first part of his idea had just been confirmed. “Have you been able to find any work since Mister Malfoy freed you?”

“No, Dobby has no work. No wizardzies or witchies want to pay Dobby to work for them,” Dobby replied.

“In that case, Dobby, I was wondering if you’d like to work for me?” Harry began before he found his legs wrapped in the sudden embrace of a clearly overwhelmed house elf.

“Mister Harry Potter Sir wants Dobby to work for him!” Dobby wailed. “Dobby has dreamed of working for the Great Mister Harry Potter Sir! Dobby would even work for the Great Mister Harry Potter Sir for no pay!”

“No, no, Dobby, I’ll pay you, of course,” Harry said, trying to peel Dobby off of him. “But you’ll have to tell me how much you want, because I don’t know how much house elves are usually paid.”

“The Great Mister Harry Potter Sir wants to pay Dobby!” Dobby cried, his eyes widening before he once again grabbed hold of Harry’s legs.

“Dobby, could you let go, please, so that we can talk about this properly,” Harry asked, beginning to get a little exasperated at the elf’s antics. “And it’s just Harry, okay?”

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say for the elf immediately started off again, extolling over and over how great, how marvellous, how amazing Harry was. Finally, Harry was able to get the elf to calm down enough to listen to him.

“Okay, Dobby, how about I explain what it is that I’d like for you to do and then we can work out how much I’ll need to pay you,” Harry said.

Seeing the elf nod, he continued. “To start with, Dobby, I’ve run away and everyone in the magical world are looking for me because I performed a massive amount of accidental magic in front of a group of muggles, so it’s very important that no one finds out where I am. Can I count on you to keep my whereabouts secret?”

“Of course, Mister Harry Potter Sir, Dobby will keep yous secrets,” Dobby agreed quickly.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry smiled. “Now I have a place to stay …”

“Is Mister Harry Potter Sirs house behind the wards there?” Dobby asked, pointing to a point just over Harry’s shoulder.

“How did you know that?” Harry asked wide-eyed.

“House elfs can find magic,” Dobby explained offhandedly.

“Okay, okay,” Harry replied. “Yes, Dobby, my house is behind those wards. I’ll need your help with running the house and buying food and probably also with looking after the greenhouses and animal enclosure once we get some plants and animals.”

“Dobby can do that easy,” Dobby exclaimed starting to bounce a little in his excitement. “A whole house just for Dobby to look after all by himself!”

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. “So how much would you like to be paid?”

For a fraction of second, Dobby appeared to be deep in thought. “One knut!”

“A knut! I’m not going to pay you only a knut!” Harry exclaimed. “How about five galleons a week.”

“Five knuts a month!” Dobby countered.

Harry sighed, realising that this could be long negotiation. “Three galleons a week with one day off a week.”

Dobby shook his head wildly at the idea of days off. “One sickle a week and no days off.”

“Dobby, you’re going to be looking after not only me, but a whole house and a valley. If you don’t accept my next offer, then I’ll just have to find some other elf to help me,” Harry said as sternly as possible.

The fear in Dobby’s eyes told Harry that he’d hit Dobby’s negotiation tactics where it hurt.

“Two and a half galleons a week with one day off a week and a one-off bonus of five galleons for you to buy your own material and sewing kit to make yourself some new clothes,” Harry stated.

Dobby appeared deep in thought for minute before a broad smile nearly split his face in two.

“Dobby will agree, Mister Harry Potter Sir, on one condition.”

“What’s that, Dobby?” Harry asked warily.

“Dobby also wants to bond to Mister Harry Potter Sir to make Dobby a proper Potter elf!”

Closing his eyes in defeat, Harry nodded his agreement.

“Okay, Dobby, what do we need to do?”

Dobby grabbed hold of Harry’s hand and placed it on top of his head. “Mister Harry Potter Sir needs to say, ‘I, Harry James Potter, do hereby claim Dobby as my personal elf and bind him to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. So mote it be’.”

“I, Harry James Potter, do hereby claim Dobby as my personal elf and bind him to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. So mote it be,” Harry repeated.

“Dobby vows to serve the Great Harry James Potter Sir and the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter with all of his being and magic,” Dobby intoned.

Immediately, a soft golden glow blossomed from Harry’s hand before engulfing both boy and elf.

“Okay, Dobby, if you’ll just wait here for a couple of minutes, I’ll go back down to the manor and get you added to the Ward Book,” Harry stated.

“Why does Master Harry Potter Sir need to do that?” Dobby asked, his head cocked to one side. “Dobby can enter the wards around Master Harry Potter Sir’s house without Dobby’s name being written into a book.”

“You can?” Harry asked, surprise etched on his face.

In answer, Dobby reached out, grasped Harry’s hand and _popped_ the two of them straight into the manor’s kitchen.

“How’d you do that, Dobby?” Harry asked.

“House elf magic is not like wizard magic or goblin magic,” Dobby replied.

“So other house elves could come straight here?” Harry asked slowly.

Dobby nodded his head, making his ears flap.

Harry blanched at the implications of that simple fact. “Dobby, can you erect wards that will keep house elves out?”

“Dobby can, but it takes a lot of Dobby’s magic and makes Dobby very sleepy afterwards,” he replied.

“Okay Dobby, I’d like you to put up some wards around Potter Haven as soon as you can, but don’t tire yourself out. It’s okay if it takes a few days,” Harry instructed.

“Dobby can be doing that,” the little elf said. “Is there anything Master Harry Potter Sir would like Dobby to be doing?”

“Actually, Dobby, there is,” Harry smiled. “I have a Goblin Postal Service Box that I’ll need you to visit the goblins about to get it upgraded to take outgoing mail as well.”

“Of course, Master Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby said before _popping_ away.

Harry shook his head. “I think I’m going to have to get Dobby to stop calling me that before he drives me insane.”

-oOoOo-

“Lord Greengrass,” the elderly goblin seated behind the large desk greeted as he inclined his head.

“Master Goblin, I trust that your vaults are filled with the gold of your enemies,” Cyrus Greengrass replied formally before taking the invited seat.

“What is it that Gringotts can do for the House of Greengrass?” Riptooth asked.

“I have been looking into my finances, Master Goblin and discovered that the House of Greengrass seems far too … confined. I would be interested in diversifying my portfolio,” Cyrus replied.

“Indeed, Lord Greengrass,” Riptooth replied, his surprise barely masked.

Cyrus barely managed to hide his own grin. Being able to surprise a goblin was never an easy feat. But then, his statement about diversifying after generations of Greengrasses cornering the antique furniture import and export market had exactly the effect that he’d anticipated.

“May I ask into what market you were thinking of expanding into?” Riptooth asked, pulling a quill and parchment closer to hand.

“I was thinking along the lines of journalism,” Cyrus began. “Perhaps by buying some shares in _The Daily Prophet_ or the _Wizarding Wireless Network_.”

“Very well, Gringotts can handle the acquisition of those shares for you,” Riptooth replied, “did you have a particular number of shares that you were interested in?”

Cyrus paused until he had the goblin’s eyes firmly fixed on his own. “How many shares are there?”

-oOoOo-

“Dan, look!” Emma Granger near-whispered from where she and her husband sat on the back patio enjoying the late afternoon warmth of summer.

Following her outstretched finger, Dan searched the sky until he finally spotted what had caught his wife’s attention.

“Do you think it …?” he asked.

“I really hope so,” she replied. “She’s driving herself crazy with worry.”

The two senior Grangers sat together watching the small brown speck steadily grow larger and larger until the shape of the large barn owl was unmistakeable. The owl altered direction slightly to glide towards the vacant chair set beside them. With a great flap of its wings, the owl landed and swivelled its head between the two. Finally, it seemed satisfied and held out one leg to Emma who happened to be the closer of the two.

As soon as the letter was untied, the owl crouched slightly before launching itself back into the air.

“Oh, I was going to get it some water and owl treats,” Emma commented at the unexpected flight of the post owl.

“Who’s the letter for?” Dan asked.

Emma gave the letter a single quick look before her face split into a wide smile.

“Hermione,” she said, “and I’d know that writing anywhere.”

“About time,” Dan grumped.

Rising from her chair, Emma made her way back inside the house.

“Hermione! You’ve got mail!” she called.

Within seconds, there was a heavy _thump thump thump_ of her daughter rushing down the stairs from her bedroom where she’d taken to holing up.

“Is it from Harry?” she asked eagerly.

“See for yourself,” Emma replied, holding out the envelope.

The second that Hermione saw the untidy scrawl on the front of the envelope, she let loose an excited squeal before snatching the letter out of her mother’s hand and rushing back upstairs. The slam of a door marked that she was once more ensconced in her room.

With a soft sigh, Emma made her way back outside, content for now to give her daughter the privacy that she needed to read her letter.

-oOoOo-

Landing on her stomach on her bed, Hermione ripped open the envelope, pulled out the parchment inside and began to devour the letter from her dearest friend.

_Dear Hermione,_

_If I know you as well as I think I do, then I’d better get the important points out of the way first. I’m fine. I’m safe. There’s nothing for you to worry about._

_Now, before I go into a bit more detail, I have to ask – how are you? Are you okay? The last that I saw of you, you were lying on the ground mostly unconscious. I’m so sorry that I did that to you. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else for that matter. Really, I don’t know what happened, other than that I, once again, did some accidental magic. And because of that, you got hurt._

_Really, Hermione, if I thought that it’d do any good or if I thought that I could live without you, I’d tell you to run as far from me as possible and to stay away so that you can never get hurt. But you, Hermione, would never do that and really, I’d never want you to._

_I promise that where I am, it’s a safe place. A place where I can practise my magic until I get a handle on it and I can stop all these annoying bouts of accidental magic._

_I know that you’re probably dying for me to tell you exactly where I am, but that’s not something I can do. It’s best for both our sakes if you don’t know. The Ministry of Magic has already been trying to find me with tracking charms and compulsion charms and even portkeys. Thankfully, the Goblin Postal Service takes care of all that for me._

_As hard as I’m sure it will be to believe this, I need you to understand that this is actually something that I anticipated and because of that, I’m well protected and provided for. I even have someone to help me where I am._

_I don’t know when it’ll be safe to see each other again but I suspect that it’ll be a very, very long time. In the meantime, I’d hope that you’d send me a letter every now and again and I’ll do the same for you._

_I miss you, Hermione._

_Harry._

Hermione dashed the tears from her eyes as she read the end of the letter. Just the very thought of not being able to see her best friend for who knew how long was almost unbearable. Knowing that he was well and safe was some consolation, she supposed.

Rolling off of her bed, Hermione laid the letter on the side of her desk, took a seat and pulled paper and pen to her. She was sure that the post owl was already gone but getting a letter into the magical world wasn’t impossible without one.

Her eyes ran over Harry’s letter once more as she sucked the end of her pen. Finally, with a decisive nod, she put pen to paper.

_Dear Harry …_


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you sure about this, Dobby?” Harry asked.

Dobby’s vigorous head nodding was accompanied by his trademark enthusiasm. “Of course, Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby has talked to all of the house elves that he knows and now Dobby knows where to find all of the beasties and plantsies that Master Harry Potter Sir needs.”

Harry stared dubiously at his new friend.

In the week that they’d been together, Dobby had abandoned the old, dirty pillowcase that he’d worn as a Malfoy elf and was now clad in the oddest attire that Harry had ever seen.

His pants, if Harry ignored the burnt orange colouring, were reminiscent of his own cargo pants. The big difference was that every pocket had been created using a different colour fabric – blue, pink, florescent yellow, green and black. His shirt, a sleeveless, multi-pocketed creation, was primarily deep green in colour.

Around his waist, Dobby wore a black belt that seemed to be made of a multitude of pockets all joined together. Harry suspected that each pocket had dozens of charms on it – featherlight, bottomless, extension and probably even one that allowed the elf to reach into another dimension, judging by the vast array of things that Harry’d seen him pull out of some of them.

Topping off Dobby’s new look, was a brilliant white beret with the Potter coat of arms embroidered in gold right at the very front of it.

“Well, I guess if you know where we can find them in the wild …,” Harry said, “it’s not like we can simply go out and buy what we need for the greenhouses and the animal enclosure without any money.”

Once again, Dobby nodded his head, making his ears flap wildly and causing his beret to slip precariously. A single snap of Dobby’s fingers caused a pair of trunks to appear between the two of them.

“Dobby thought that Master Harry Potter Sir could carry what he finds back home in these,” Dobby explained as he adjusted his beret on his head.

Kneeling down, Harry opened first one lid and then the other. Inside were dozens and dozens of boxes and jars and even a couple of buckets with lids.

“Can you shrink plants and animals down, Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Of course, Master Harry Potter Sir. As long as Master Harry Potter Sir first decides what we wants and puts the beasties to sleep,” he said.

“Dobby,” Harry said with a pained expression, “what have I told you about calling me that?”

“Master Harry Potter Sir has said that he prefers that Dobby call him ‘just Harry’,” he replied, hanging his head.

“Then could you please try to remember to call me that?” he pleaded.

“Dobby will try Master … Harry,” the house elf said contritely.

Harry stared hopefully at the elf in front of him, but somehow, he knew that it’d be a very long time, if ever, before Dobby finally got the hang of calling him ‘Harry’ all the time.

“Okay, Dobby, you know what we need, so take us away.”

With an enthusiastic nod and a brilliant smile, the small house elf snapped his fingers once causing the trunks to disappear before stepping forward, grasping Harry’s hand and snapping his fingers again causing them to instantly _pop_ away.

-oOoOo-

The boy and elf materialised on the edge of a forest. Turning around, Harry looked down into the valley below. A small town was nestled at the base of the three hills a few miles away. A series of grey lines marked the roads that led away towards the horizon and the haze of a city. At this time of the morning, there was no evidence of any people around, so Harry turned back to the forest before him.

Seeing that his Master was watching him, Dobby waved his hand and trooped into the forest.

Ducking under a low-lying branch, Harry followed along. All around him, he heard the sounds of the forest – small animals scurrying away in the underbrush, the buzz of insects and the flap of wings taking flight. Dobby led him in a round-a-bout fashion, following no discernible trail that Harry could recognise. Every now and again, Dobby would pause, cock his head, his ears quivering as he listened. Then, he’d set off again, often in a slightly different direction.

Finally, Dobby waved Harry closer and pointed through the trees to one particular elm.

It was a tall, broad limbed tree, heavy in leaves and obviously in the prime of its life. As Harry stepped closer trying to determine why Dobby had brought him to this specific spot, he caught a strange movement in the tree. A number of twigs looked to be moving about despite the fact that there was barely a breath of wind to be felt. As he frowned at the inconsistency, he noticed more and more twigs moving independently from the tree.

A gasp escaped him as he finally realised what he was seeing. The twigs were actually some kind of creature. It had arms and legs, fingers and toes and a sharp pointed little face. A tiny high pitched noise caught his ear and he realised that it came from the strange twig creatures. His eyes darted about, focussing on a new creature every half-second or so until he’d identified two or three dozen of them.

“What are they, Dobby?” he breathed.

“Bowtruckles, Master Harry Sir.”

Pulling out the Care of Magical Creatures book that he’d brought with him in his book bag, Harry looked up ‘bowtruckles’.

“This says that they live on wand quality trees. I guess that that means that we’ll need to take the tree with us as well?” Harry mused.

“Dobby can replant the tree for Master in the creature bowl,” Dobby stated.

With a nod, Harry took out his wand, glad that the Thief’s Downfall had taken care of the possibility of him being caught for doing underage magic. He considered the best spell to use. _Immobulus_ would really only work for individual shots. _Stupefy_ , on the other hand, would probably be too strong for such a small creature. In the end, he decided to see if he could cast a wide-area _stupefy_ that would defuse the effects of the spell.

Taking a few steps away, Harry aimed back the way that he’d come and tested out his wide-area _stupefy._ Once he was satisfied, he turned back and shot the spell into the elm. A dozen small plops onto the ground marked bowtruckles falling from the tree unconscious. With a nod of satisfaction, Harry cast again, this one higher.

A dozen spells later and he’d covered the tree from top to bottom and from bottom to top twice over. Then it was a simple case of scrabbling around in the dirt around the base of the tree finding all of the stunned bowtruckles and popping them into a couple of the boxes in the trunk that Dobby had produced.

Once all of the little twig-like creatures had been gathered, Harry and Dobby worked together to dig around the elm before Dobby levitated it out of the ground, shrunk it and popping it into one of the glass specimen jars.

With a nod for a job well-done, Harry took Dobby’s hand ready for their next stop of the day.

-oOoOo-

“Here, Master Harry Potter Sir!” Dobby exclaimed, pointing straight down into the patch of mud at his feet.

In response, Harry bounded over and began attacking the mud with the shovel that Dobby had pulled from one of the many pockets of his belt. As he held up the second shovel full, he eyed it critically before smiling at the four pink flobberworm heads that poked out of the mud.

That shovelful, like all of the others, went into the bucket. Five more shovels of mud were excavated from that particular pile before Dobby proclaimed that he’d found all of the flobberworms in that hole.

Soon enough, he was off again, digging his seventh hole in the mud for the strange magical worm-like creatures that he’d study later.

-oOoOo-

“Where are we now, Dobby?” Harry asked as he peered around at the mountainside that he’d found himself on.

“Wales, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied. “The next creature is just over the rise, Sir.”

With a nod, Harry began trekking up the mountain. Loose rocks tumbled under his feet, bringing him to all fours for the final scramble to the top.

A loud, terrifying bellow dropped Harry to his stomach even as all of the hairs on his body immediately rose in fright.

“What in Merlin’s name was that?” he murmured to the house elf cowering beside him.

Finding Dobby’s answering head shake to be particularly unhelpful, Harry slowly eased his way forward. Slowly, he lifted his head to peek into the valley below. His eyes boggled at the sight and he froze, unable to either slink back or run screaming down the mountain like his mind was telling him to.

A pair of enormous green wings flared out as the green-skinned dragon bellowed once more. It was easily twice the length of a bus and four or five times as big. Its long sinewy neck weaved backwards and forwards over a hollow in the ground as its mate ambled forward. Together, the two Welsh Greens barked a series of coughs and grunts at each other before the second one bent its legs slightly, flapped its wings and rose up out of the valley.

Harry watched mesmerised as the dragon pirouetted in the air before accelerating off to Harry’s right.

“What in the bloody hell did you bring me here for?” Harry hissed to Dobby.

“Master needs magical creatures,” Dobby babbled.

Harry stared, trying to understand the logic that said that _dragons_ were an acceptable creature to have locked away in Potter Haven.

Taking a calming breath or ten, Harry forced himself to speak as calmly as he could.

“I think we’ll pass on the dragons, Dobby. How about we try somewhere else, huh?”

A soft _pop_ later and the dragon below became the only magical creature for miles around.

-oOoOo-

Taking a good look around, Harry sighed in relief. The countryside was bare of any creature, magical or otherwise. Unless, that is, they were hiding in the small lake that he and Dobby had appeared beside.

“What are we looking for here, Dobby?” he asked. “Animal or plant?”

“Plant this time, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied. “Gillyweed. It grows underwater.”

Together, the two of them waded into the shallows of the lake. Even in the heat of the summer’s day, the water felt cool. It didn’t take long before Dobby had found what they were looking for.

Reaching down to the thick greenish-black plant in the water, Harry felt his hands encounter the rubber-like stems of gillyweed. As he stepped closer, it swayed slowly about. This was another of those plants that he had no idea what they did. He guessed that it was useful in potions.

“There’s no water in the dome. We’ll have to plant this one in the loch,” Harry pointed out.

A large tub appeared right beside the lake at Dobby’s finger click. A second click half filled it with lake water. Then it was simply a case of digging into the dirt below the plant and tugging it forth. Once they had half a dozen specimens, Dobby waved his hand to dry them both off.

“This looks like a good place to stop for lunch, Dobby. What do you say?”

The sudden appearance of a picnic basket was all the answer that he needed.

-oOoOo-

“Here, Master Harry Potter Sir, you’ll need these to catch the nifflers,” Dobby said as they materialised in the middle of a large field on the side of a gently sloping hill.

Taking the small bag that Dobby had handed him, Harry frowned in puzzlement as he opened the neck of the small leather bag that he’d been handed. Inside, he saw the sparkle of multiple small gems. Tipping the bag sidewards, he allowed a handful of the gems to trickle into one hand.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” Harry asked.

“Spread them on the ground, Master Harry Sir. The nifflers will come,” Dobby explained.

Doing as he was told, Harry let his hand go in a great arc, scattering multi-coloured gems about. When nothing happened, he looked dubiously at the elf standing beside him. In response, Dobby began bouncing up and down and pointing back at the gems.

The slight shudder of a single patch of grass caught Harry’s attention and he whipped his head around in time to see a slender black snout poking up from the dirt. A second later, the dirt exploded as a long slim body erupted out of the ground. The nifflers’ pelt was jet black except for a tiny white flash of fur on the tip of its stringy tail.

Its head jerked from side to side before it gave an excited _squee_ and darted across to the closest gem. Like a tiny vacuum cleaner, the niffer sucked up the gem before scurrying across to the next gem in line. Before Harry could pull his wand, another three black noses had popped up.

These three, once they’d emerged, proved to be smaller versions of the first.

_Babies_ , Harry supposed.

A _stupefy_ was on the tip of his tongue when the last, another adult niffler emerged from under the ground.

A half-dozen quick spells later and there were six sleeping creatures waiting to be boxed up ready for a new home in Potter Haven.

-oOoOo-

Harry stared at the strange orange radish fruit. There was no way that it could be anything _but_ a magical plant – the fruit was growing upside down!

“And this thing’s called a dirigible plum?” Harry questioned.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied.

“Well, at least we don’t need to take the whole tree this time,” Harry mused, “a couple of those seedlings should work fine.”

At the base of the strangely twisted trunk, a group of small plants grew in an almost perfect circle. Dropping to his knees, Harry looked up at his trusty house elf and smiled as he took the proffered small spade.  Six small seedlings were carefully dug up and transferred into specimen containers before being placed in the appropriate trunk.

-oOoOo-

A panting, sweaty Harry ducked under the slithering vine, hopped over a second vine and back-pedalled quickly. A motion to his side shot his wand hand up instinctively.

_“Diffindo_!” he shouted.

The bright light of the spell shot out and neatly cut the approaching vine, dropping it to the sandy floor of the cave. Another two quickly cast spells cutting their way through three more vines was enough to make the venomous tentacular recoil enough for Harry to take a breather.

“Why do we need this one again?” he asked the air around him.

When no response came, not that he’d been expecting one anyway, he used his forearm to wipe away the sweat on his forehead before jumping back into the fray.

So far he’d managed to cut over three quarters of the venomous tentacular’s vines. Dobby had said that the only way to subdue the plant enough to be able to dig it up was to remove its vines. So far, he’d been battling with it for over half an hour. The worst part was the fact that it was hidden deep inside the cave that Dobby’d been told about in the depths of the Forest of Dean. And that was the only wild one that any of Dobby’s house elf friends had known about.

Ten minutes later, the last of the persistent vines fell to a well-aimed cutting curse.

“Okay, Dobby, it’s clear now!” Harry called.

Immediately, the small elf trotted into view, a trunk floating along behind him.

“I’ll dig up the plant if you’ll gather up the vines, Dobby,” Harry stated.

With a nod, Dobby got to work. As he did so, Harry slithered across the ground where the mouth of the tentacular couldn’t reach and began hacking at the sand. Thankfully, its roots were fairly shallow and it toppled to the ground within a few minutes.

“Maybe only one or two more today,” Harry said as he tried in vain to brush off some of the dirt and sweat that he was coated in. “Then we’ll call it a day and come out another time.

-oOoOo-

A giggling potato head popped out of the hole in the ground before ducking back out of sight again. Harry spun around at the sound, before spinning back around at a second giggle.

The small potato-like creature popped itself completely up and began running across the grass, giggling constantly all the way.

Seeing the wrinkled, one foot tall gnome, Harry dove.

“Got ya!” he grunted as one hand captured a pair of knobbly legs.

Rolling to his feet, Harry retrieved his wand and stunned the gnome a little more forcefully than he’d intended. Seeing the trunk on the far side of the field, Harry began to make his way back across to it. As he walked, he watched in amusement as the small badly dressed house elf chased after the even smaller potato-like gnome.

Dobby slipped and skidded across the grass as the gnome dove head first into the nearest gnome hole. Dobby, though, had obviously learnt from the other couple of dozen times that this had happened. Harry watched as he lay there, waiting, his large green eyes focused on the hole that the gnome had disappeared into. Suddenly, a giggling head popped up to discover what had happened to the thing that was chasing it, only to have Dobby’s hands lash out, grab it and pull it from its hole.

“I think that’ll do, Dobby,” Harry called as he looked into the box where the unconscious gnomes had been put. “We’ve got nearly a dozen of the little suckers already.”

-oOoOo-

Once again, Harry found himself in an unknown forest somewhere in the British Isles. The sun was fast setting and this deep in the forest, there was only a dim light left to see by.

“There, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby whispered.

Harry sighted along Dobby’s arm, his eyes flicking backwards and forwards for their latest prey. And then he saw it. A silver-green lizard, maybe ten or eleven inches long, with large silver eyes clung to the side of the tree.

Bringing up his wand, Harry whispered the required spell, “ _immobulus!_ ”

Instantly, the lizard froze in place. Thankfully, unlike the bowtruckles, the moke remained firmly attached to the tree.

“Another one, Sir!” Dobby said, grabbing hold of Harry’s arm in his excitement.

Within moments, Harry had found and immobilized the second moke.

While Dobby kept watch, Harry darted forward, plucked the two magical lizards off of the tree and placed them in the box that he carried.

By the time that it was too dark to continue the search, Harry had only managed to collect a single other moke.

“Come on, Dobby, let’s go home,” Harry said, holding out his hand to the elf. “I think we’ve got enough here to keep us busy for the next few days.”


	9. Chapter 9

Albus Dumbledore stood frozen in the middle of his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Behind him, his desk was still piled with parchment and envelopes that he hadn’t even had time to glance at let alone start sorting through.

No, while it may have been the case that the Headmaster had been in his office for close to an hour, for the vast majority of that time, he’d been frozen to the spot. His mind, one of the most brilliant in the world he’d readily admit with the appropriate amount of humility, was still trying to process exactly what had just happened to him.

After nearly two weeks recovering in a bed in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries from being tossed into a concrete pillar like a rag doll, he’d finally been released. During most of his convalescence, he’d had one overriding desire – to return to his office where the various devices that monitored that blasted boy were kept.

He’d diligently read _The Daily Prophet_ each day since he’d awoken, but there had been no sign of Harry Potter anywhere. The entire wizarding world had been on the lookout without success. From what he’d managed to find out, the Ministry’s own task force dedicated to finding the boy was running in circles. He’d even delegated the task of searching the boy out to Severus, but he too had so far come up empty. Not that he was worried. A minute or two with any of his devices would pinpoint the boy’s location.

But no sooner had he stepped into his office than a pair of knocks at his door had interrupted him.

Assuming that it was merely Severus and Minerva come to welcome him back to the castle, he’d waved a careless hand, opening the door for them. If only it had been.

“Mister Dumbledore,” Madam Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had begun as she strode purposefully into the room.

One look at her face was enough to see that she was clearly there on official business.

“Mister Dumbledore, over the past two weeks, the DMLE have been investigating the events of June thirty. We have questioned dozens of eye-witnesses, both magical and muggle, as well as sought expert opinion.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely even as he attempted to determine exactly who these ‘expert opinions’ may belong to.

“Our conclusion,” Madam Bones continued, “is that, while Mister Harry Potter was responsible for performing underage accidental magic in front of muggles, he was not entirely to blame for the incident.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore questioned, surprised by that statement. “Then may I ask who else was involved?”

Madam Bones smiled a smile that could only be called predatory. “That would be you, Mister Dumbledore.”

“What? Me?” Dumbledore exclaimed. “I assure you, Madam, that while I may not recall the event, I am positive that there was nothing that I would have done that would endanger the Statute of Secrecy!”

“Do you recall a magical vow that Mister Potter made in August of last year?” Madam Bones asked, suddenly seeming to change the topic.

With a frown and a wave, he dismissed the matter. “A twelve year old boy is certainly not capable of making such a ridiculous vow that would deprive him of his only living relatives.”

“I think that you’ll find that you’re mistaken there, Dumbledore,” Madam Bones replied. “In any event, it has been determined that due to Mister Potter’s magical vow, his magic most likely reacted in a way to protect itself. But that is a matter for another day.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” Madam Bones intoned, her back growing straighter as she spoke, “due to the fact that you were aware of Mister Harry James Potter’s magical vow and the consequences of him breaking that vow, namely that he would lose his magic, and the fact that you attempted to force Mister Potter into a situation that would cause him to lose said magic, it is my duty to inform you of the charges that have been laid against you.”

“Madam, I am not only the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but the Supreme Mugwamp of the International Wizarding Community. I can assure you that I have broken no laws,” Dumbledore stated, letting a modicum of his vast power out to play as he layered his voice with his magic.

“One again, you will find that you are wrong, Mister Dumbledore and throwing your positions around won’t get you off the hook with me,” Madam Bones scowled, causing her monocle to dig deeply into her skin. “You are charged with attempting to harm a magical child under the age of seventeen, attempting to harm the magic of another and, due to Mister Potter being the last of his line, with the attempted eradication of a magical line, that is, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

Before Dumbledore could respond, Madam Bones pulled a scroll from her pocket and presented it to him.

“Your trial is scheduled for August the fifth,” she told him. “Good day, Sir.”

And without another word, she turned and strode from his office.

“Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore was pulled from his stunned contemplation of the scroll in his hand to the other person standing in his office.

“Yes, yes, Stephen, I’m sorry that you had to witness that. What is it that I can do for you?” Dumbledore asked.

Stephen Connington, stepped forward and shook the offered hand although Dumbledore had the impression that the tall, lanky man with hair starting to grey at his temples was reluctant to do so.

“I’m here on behalf of the Board of Governors, Dumbledore,” Stephen told him.

Dumbledore frowned.  Having the Board aware of the charges that had just been laid against him before he’d even had a chance to weave his political magic to make them disappear was not what he would have liked to have had happen.

“And what can I do for the Board on this fine day?” Dumbledore asked.

“Actually, much like my predecessor, I’m here to inform you of some decisions that have been made,” Connington stated.

“Oh?” Dumbledore asked, a sinking feeling beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach.

“The Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have met on no less than six occasions over the past three weeks. We have discussed not only the incident that involved a basilisk roaming freely throughout the corridors of a school full of children which led to six students being petrified, one being possessed by a dangerous magical artefact and another being kidnapped and seriously injured by said basilisk, but also the events the previous year that culminated in the death of a possessed member of your staff after that professor had attacked both colleagues and students.”

“I really feel that I should have been involved in those discussions,” Dumbledore stated, exuding an air of disappointment.

“We didn’t,” Connington stated. “There are quite a number of questions that we do have for you, though, Dumbledore. In the interest of fairness, we’ve compiled the list for you to peruse and to help you prepare for the full review that we will undertake into the position and decisions that you, as Headmaster, have made in the recent years.”

Like Madam Bones before him, Stephen Connington pulled out a scroll and handed it to the old man.

“The Board has set the date of the twelfth of August aside for your review, giving us time to elect a replacement for the position that was held by Lucius Malfoy,” Connington stated. “I believe that it’s only fair to inform you that, regardless of how satisfied we are with your answers to the questions that we will have for you that day, you _will_ , at the very least, be placed on probation for a minimum of one year; an observer will be placed within Hogwarts to monitor your decisions for the period of your probation; and, depending upon the outcome of the charges that Amelia just served you with, you can expect more serious repercussions, up to and including, termination of your employment.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply but before he could do so, Connington had nodded his head, offered a “good day” and strode from the office.

Finally, after reviewing the less than pleasant encounters of the last half hour, Dumbledore gave a little shake and came back to the present.

Almost in a daze, Dumbledore crossed the room, dropped the two scrolls on top of the pile of waiting correspondence for later, and approached the side table that held his various monitoring devices. One glance was enough to quicken his pace.

Altogether, there were more than two dozen small silver devices on the table monitoring various people and places in the magical world that he knew were potential sources of trouble. Foreknowledge of trouble had always served him well, from appearing and utilizing his considerable magical power for the Greater Good, to simply having had time to think and determine a course of action long before the situation was brought to his attention.

Not that long ago, there had been five silver devices whirling and spinning away on this table that were connected to Harry Potter. But that was before Harry had left Privet Drive early the previous year ensuring that the blood wards that protected the boy hadn’t been fully recharged. If he’d been able to get the boy back where he belonged as soon as the train arrived at King’s Cross, then the damage could have been repaired. Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened.

Dumbledore stared fiercely at that particular device that was now still. And with the wards now completely down, there was no way to erect them again, even if he found the boy and returned him to his Aunt and Uncle’s house that very day.

What was even more disconcerting was the fact that of the remaining four devices connected to Harry Potter, three of them were also completely still. Somehow, as inconceivable as it certainly was, Harry had had the tracking charms on his trunk, wrist holster and even the one on his very person neutralised. Now all that he was left with was the tracking charm on the boy’s glasses.

Thankfully, one was enough to do the job. Lifting up the small silver trinket, Dumbledore transferred it to the corner of his desk before tapping it thrice with his wand. On the first tap, a smoky map of Great Britain appeared above its spout. Subsequent taps caused the map to contract until Dumbledore had the boy’s location pinpointed: the centre of London, not far from King’s Cross Station, to be exact.

With a satisfied nod of his head, Dumbledore crossed to his floo in three strides, lit the fire and threw in a handful of powder.

“Severus Snape!” he called.

Before the day was out, the troublesome boy would be back where he belonged.

-oOoOo-

Sirius strode down the middle of Diagon Alley intent on his destination. He’d been down this way far too often for his liking of late. Marauders, pranksters, should _never_ be seen anywhere near a lawyer and yet, here he was again for the dozenth or so time since he’d been released from Azkaban.

Seeing his destination, Sirius paused and tugged his elegant black robes back into place. _Tentridge, Oldfield and Pew_ was one of the most prominent lawyer firms in the wizarding world. Their services weren’t cheap but when you wanted a job done, they were incredibly thorough. They’d been serving the ancient families, including the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Black and Potter, for close on four hundred years now.

Striding forward, Sirius thrust out his hand and pushed the mahogany and stained glass door open. A small _tinkle_ of a bell announced his presence.

“Lord Black, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” the secretary, Clarisse, said. “How can _Tentridge, Oldfield and Pew_ help you today?”

Sirius smiled widely at the girl before him. Her intense brown eyes, only slightly lighter than the long brown locks that framed her cherubic face were fixated on his own eyes. If he was ten or fifteen years younger …

“Good morning, Clarisse, it’s wonderful to see you again,” he unashamedly flirted. “I was wondering if Julius was available at all for a quick chat?”

“Just let me go and see, Lord Black,” Clarisse replied before swivelling her chair, coming out from behind her desk and crossing to the closest of the three doors.

Sirius leant on the counter, watching as the girl knocked before opening the door and speaking to the person inside. Moments later, she turned and smiled.

“Mister Tentridge would be delighted to give you a few moments, Lord Black,” she said, motioning to the door.

With a nod of thanks, Sirius entered through the open door.

Julius Tentridge was the senior partner in the law firm as his office clearly showed. The walls, what could be seen of them behind the many bookcases of law books and frames and frames of certificates, was panelled in a rich cherry wood. Behind the large oak desk, light poured in from the window that overlooked Diagon Alley.

As Sirius strode through the door, his eyes were captured by the elderly man rising to meet him. Julius was the epitome of class. His silver trimmed black robes were tailored to his wiry frame, his pearl shirt neatly matching his immaculately styled hair. A pair of wire-rimmed silver spectacles were perched on the end of his nose, highlighting his clear blue eyes.

“Lord Black, it is good to see you again,” Julius said, hand outstretched.

“Julius, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Sirius replied, then, “and I’ve told you before, it’s ‘Sirius’.”

The corners of the old lawyer’s mouth turned up in a smile as he neatly ignored Sirius’ wishes.

“Have a seat, Lord Black and tell me what brings you here today. I trust you haven’t gotten yourself in some kind of trouble so soon?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Sirius laughed. “I’m actually here about my godson.”

Julius straightened slightly in his chair, his hands steepling together under his chin.

“Mister Potter,” he said simply.

“That’s the boy,” Sirius grinned. “He’s the one who seems to have gotten himself into trouble.”

“That is one way of putting it, Lord Black,” Julius replied, then, in explanation, “I’ve been reading about his exploits in _The Daily Prophet_ , not that I put a lot of stock into the accuracy of that paper.”

“Hmph,” Sirius grunted. “In this case, they’ve got more right than wrong.”

“I take it that you’d like to retain my services for Mister Potter in this matter?” Julius clarified.

At Sirius’ nod, he continued. “In that case, I accept. Now, while I will, of course, need to speak to Mister Potter to hear his side of the story, I’d be interested in hearing the facts as you know them.”

“Thanks, Julius,” Sirius replied, feeling some of the weight leave his shoulders. “You’ve probably read that Harry’s now had three breaches of the Decree for Restrictions for Underage Wizardry? Well what you don’t know is that the first one wasn’t even done by Harry … ”

-oOoOo-

“I’d like to see Mister Barnabus Cuffe, please,” Cyrus Greengrass said pleasantly to the woman seemingly in charge of the large counter just inside the door to _The Daily Prophet_.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the woman frowned slightly at him. “Mister Cuffe doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”

Cyrus waved her statement aside. “Today he does. If you could give him this,” here he pulled a scroll from inside his robes, “then I’m positive that he’d be delighted to simply drop everything and see me immediately.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the woman repeated, after a quick glance at the scroll, “I’m not authorised to accept unsolicited material.”

Cyrus smiled at her. “Quite right, quite right. You never know what you could be handling. How about this? How about I just tell you what that scroll says and then you can decide whether or not you want to take it and give it to your boss? Would that work, do you think?”

Her brown eyes shifted back and forth between Cyrus and the scroll a few times before she made her decision.

“Alright,” she nodded.

Leaning forward to keep what he was about to say between just the two of them, Cyrus whispered, “this says that I am now the largest stockholder of _The Daily Prophet_.”

Cyrus watched the woman’s eyes widen in shock before she snatched the scroll out of his hands and practically ran through the many cubicles of the newsroom to one of the few doors in the back wall. Within minutes, she was backing out of the room to allow the editor of _The Daily Prophet_ to come scurrying towards him.

“Sir, won’t you please join me in my office,” a slightly breathless Barnabus Cuffe said, holding the swinging half-door open to allow Cyrus admittance.

After a half bow that allowed him to school the smirk off of his face, Cyrus complied.

The editor in chief’s office seemed to be a mixture of office and storeroom. Piles and piles of books, parchment and scrolls occupied the floor, all along one wall and half of the seating in the room.

“What can I do for you, Lord Greengrass?” Mister Cuffe asked, indicating a chair in front of his desk for him to seat himself in.

Cyrus observed the slightly sweaty brow under the messy greying hair on the older gentleman’s face. The newsman was reportedly only a handful of years older than he was, but the myriad of lines across his face made him seem nearly a decade or two older again.

“I’m sure that you’re wondering what I have in mind for your newspaper,” Cyrus began. “Rest assured that I have no great desire to dictate to you what it is that you should print or the slant that I believe that you should take on any given story.”

Mister Cuffe nodded his head and breathed out an obvious sigh of relief.

“However,” Cyrus continued, holding up a finger to forestall any questions, “I do have one _suggestion_ that I would hope that you would be willing to take on board?”

“Of course, Lord Greengrass, we here at _The Daily Prophet_ , would be more than willing to listen to any suggestion that you have to offer,” Mister Cuffe assured him.

“How wonderful,” Cyrus smiled. “In that case, I would hope to see that the newspaper that I now own the vast majority of will come to be known as being synonymous with truth and fairness.”

Cyrus watched the man’s face, seeing a thousand thoughts shooting through his mind.

“I don’t see there being a problem with that,” the editor slowly allowed.

“Wonderful. In that case, perhaps we can begin with ensuring that any current stories are shown in a completely unbiased light, with both sides of the story being covered,” Cyrus said jovially.

“Did you have a particular story in mind,” Mister Cuffe asked in a sinking tone.

“Well, would you believe that I do?” Cyrus smiled. “How about the story about The-Boy-Who-Lived? Of late, he’s been vilified as the villain for breaking the Decree for Restrictions for Underage Wizardry. To balance those stories, perhaps it might be fair to remind the public of all that young Harry Potter has done for the wizarding world, hmm?”

Before the editor could interrupt, Cyrus began ticking off points with his fingers.

“He vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for us. He fought him again a little over a year ago, banishing him from the professor who’d been possessed, recovering a major magical artefact and saving the lives of a number of students in the process. And then, not three weeks ago, he fought and killed one of the largest basilisks ever recorded, thereby safeguarding Hogwarts and saving the life of another student. What do you think?”

Cyrus smiled as Barnabus Cuffe simply nodded and began pulling parchment, ink and a quill towards himself.


	10. Chapter 10

It’d taken Harry a couple of days, but finally he was happy with the timetable that he’d put together. Dropping his quill beside the parchment, two objects that he planned to replace with normal pens and paper the next time that he went into the village, he surveyed his work.

Things back in the magical world seemed to be getting crazier and at the moment there was a glimmer of hope that one day, definitely not any time soon, he might actually be able to return.

Sirius’ last letter had told him that he’d hired one of the best lawyers in Britain to help him beat the charges that Harry was charged with, although he did caution that, due to the seriousness of performing accidental magic in front of so many muggles, that it was going to be an uphill slog. Hopefully, the fact that Madam Bones had charged Professor Dumbledore and, as she’d put it in her letter, ‘his recklessness was hopefully going to come back to bite him firmly in the ass’ would help Harry’s case later.

The latest couple of editions of _The Daily Prophet_ had also flummoxed him. Gone were the constant disparaging articles written by Rita Skeeter calling for his head for putting their world in such danger. Instead, articles written by a Marcus Waynesbury, reminded the wizarding world of his past ‘heroic deeds’. It wasn’t until he’d received a letter from Daphne explaining that her father now owned controlling interest in the newspaper that he understood why the change had occurred.

But even if the adults back in the wizarding world were attempting to fix things for him, Harry was very aware of the seriousness of the charges that had been laid on him, including the refusal to comply with a direct order by the DMLE to surrender himself. Almost daily letters and pleas to come home or at least to tell them where he was by Sirius, Remus, Minerva, not to mention his friends, were soundly ignored. There was no way that Harry was going to trust that his luck would change. Especially not after ten years with the Dursleys and the latest year where the vast majority of Hogwarts was so aggressive towards him.

No, it was clear to Harry that his safety came first. And that meant keeping his whereabouts a strict secret known only to himself and to Dobby. It also meant that if he wanted to continue learning magic, then it was up to him to teach himself. Thus, the timetable that he’d just finished putting together.

Harry let his eyes rove over his work. In a tribute to Hermione, every subject was colour-coded for ease of understanding. He’d tried to keep his days balanced, delegating Transfiguaration, Charms and Defence Against The Dark Arts to different days (Monday, Wednesday and Friday, respectively), as well as spreading out those new subject that he thought sounded a bit gruelling – Ancient runes, Arithmancy and Enchanting.

From flicking through the book on the Mind Arts and the section on animagi in the Marauder’s journal that he’d been given for Christmas, he saw that both disciplines were long term and potentially very draining, so they were spread far apart as well – one on Monday, the other on Friday.

When it came to deciding his timetable, Harry’d taken a long time to eventually decide that three subjects a day, Monday to Friday, for two hours each (except for Muggle Studies which only needed an hour at most to read the next chapter in the textbook) should be more than enough. That meant that he could easily fit in fifteen subjects a week. With his normal seven Hogwarts subjects plus the four electives, that meant that he could choose an additional four areas from the many extra subject on his shelves that Hogwarts no longer offered. That, too, took a long time to decide; there were simply so many great options.

In the end, he’d filled his timetable with:

Monday – Transfiguration, Mind Arts, Ancient Runes

Tuesday – History of Magic, Herbology, Potions

Wednesday – Charms, Arithmancy, Astronomy (at night)

Thursday – Muggle Studies (one hour to allow a bit of a sleep in after the late night before), Care of Magical Creatures, Beginning Healing (Harry thought this was a particularly good one to study without Madam Pomfrey around in case of accidents)

Friday – Defence Against the Dark Arts, Animagi study, Enchanting

Saturdays, Harry decided to take off. That was Dobby’s day off, so he thought that it made sense to join him in lazing about. The last subject that had caught Harry’s eye that he _really_ didn’t want to leave for another year as he was going to do with some of the other subjects that he’d come across, was Fencing and Sword Fighting, so he’d added it to his timetable as a single subject for Sunday mornings.

That was also when he’d decided to do some concentrated work with the rowan staff that he’d found in the Chamber of Secrets. The few times that he’d attempted to use it, he’d found it too big and bulky to wield like his wand. He wasn’t able to make the wand movements that he’d normally do with a spell and until he worked it out, he was loathe to use it for his everyday spell work.

After duplicating the timetable twice, Harry hung one in the library before heading off to add one to the kitchen where he’d see it during breakfast each day and then upstairs to the main classroom that he’d decided to use to hang the last.

-oOoOo-

The fourth Saturday in July, which also happened to be the third Saturday since Dobby had joined him, started out just like any other day with Dobby popping in beside his bed moments after he’d woken up.

“Good morning, Master Harry Sir,” the little house elf chirped.

“Morning Dobby,” Harry yawned.

Rolling his head to look at his friend, Harry winced and slammed his eyes closed. Dobby’s outfit was far too wild for that time of the morning.

“Would Master Harry Sir like Dobby to do some chores around the house today?” Dobby asked, a wisp of hopefulness in his voice.

“Dobby, it’s Saturday, you know that that means I’m not going to tell you what to do today,” he explained as patiently as he could, just as he had the Saturday before. “It’s your day off. Go, do whatever it is that elves do for fun.”

Opening his eyes a crack, Harry caught the end of a fleeting look of sadness.

“Dobby, you do so much for me. I honestly think that I would have gone crazy already without you here with me,” Harry told him. “But I don’t want you to think that all you have to do is look after me. I’m quite capable of feeding myself for one day of the week.”

“Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby nodded slowly before _popping_ away with a snap of his fingers.

Harry sighed in relief. Dobby was brilliant to have around but sometimes he could be a bit too smothering. Rolling over, he contemplated his day. The idea of simply lying in bed all day sounded appealing but after being constantly cooped up in the manor for so many weeks, he felt like getting out and about a bit today.

Oh, sure, the couple of times that he and Dobby had been out hunting animals and plants for the enclosure and the greenhouses had varied the days a bit, but those days were too fast paced and chaotic to be even considered relaxing. And while the sound of exploring the valley sounded fun, it was people that he actually craved.

As he got up and crossed to his wardrobe, Harry planned his day. Breakfast in the village at the _Plough and Shear_ for a bit of variety and with a good chance to see and talk to other people this morning. Perhaps a wander around the village after that. Then, this afternoon, he’d take to the air and explore the valley from his nimbus. It’d been far too long since he’d taken the time to fly.

-oOoOo-

Harry slowly rolled up to the two storied, red stone building, dismounted and lent his bike against the wall a dozen or so metres down from the door. Today the old oak door was wide open allowing him to simply stroll in. He’d barely taken half a dozen steps into the old pub when he was hailed.

“Hadrian, right? It’s good to see you again!”

Harry lifted one hand in a wave as his mouth split into a lop-sided grin.

“Hi, Angus,” he returned to the old man behind the bar wiping a glass on a towel.

Looking around the large open-plan room, Harry realised that, once again, he was the only customer. He supposed that he simply came earlier than anyone else.

“What can I be getting’ ya?” Angus asked as he placed the now dry glass under the bar.

As he’d done the last time that he was in, Harry scanned the large chalkboard affixed to the back wall. After a minute, he lowered his eyes to the nearly bald barkeep in front of him.

“I think I’ll go for the ‘big breakfast’ again,” he said.

“Good choice. I’ll let the wife know,” Angus said before disappearing momentarily into the kitchen.

“It’ll be ten minutes,” he said as he returned. Leaning on the bar, he eyed Harry up and down. “You look to be doing well. Settling in alright?”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry replied. “I grew up in the city, but I must admit that I’m really liking being out in the country.”

“Ain’t nothing like it,” Angus grinned, “especially _this_ countryside. You seen much of the town yet?”

Harry shook his head, “no, not yet. I was thinking of exploring it after breakfast.”

“Make sure you stop by the old town hall,” Angus said, “there’s a lot of good heritage to see there.”

“I’ll do that,” Harry replied, but before he could say anything else, he was distracted by the sight of Jillian arriving with a large plate in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

“There you go, love,” she smiled, laying the items on the counter in front of him.

Talk then tended to remain on the opposite side of the bar from Harry as he dug into the plate full of bacon, eggs, tomato and toast. As Harry listened, occasionally adding in a comment here or there, he heard more about the town. In return, he explained that he’d mostly been confined to home since moving in as he and his ‘family’ were getting the new house set up.

A loud grating sound outside on the gravel sounded as Harry was mopping up the last of his egg yolk with his toast. In front of him, Angus and Jillian’s heads shot up, their eyes widening at the sound. He was just in the process of spinning around to find out what had caught their attention when it was made plainly obvious to him. A veritable babble of voices, accompanied by the sounds of dozens of feet trooping on the gravel and then the doorstep announced a hoard of people entering the _Plough and Shear_.

“Get the stove fired up, love, looks like we’ve got another of them tour buses,” Angus stated.

Immediately, Jillian could be heard scurrying away behind him. Harry watched as the gaggle of people surveyed the room before veering towards the tables to his right. They were mostly late middle aged or older couples, with a few younger families mixed in.

As Angus came out from behind the bar, a pad and pencil in his hand, he stopped, looked back at Harry, then at the crowd once more before coming to a decision and leaning across to the boy still sitting at the bar.

“Hadrian. How’d you like a couple of hours of work?” he asked.

Harry stared. “What would I have to do?”

“You any good in a kitchen?” Angus asked.

“I’ve been cooking for my family since I could reach the stove,” he replied.

“In that case, head on back and tell Jill that I sent you in to help,” Angus instructed.

Picking up his dirty plate and glass, Harry rounded the bar and pushed open the door to the kitchen with shoulder. Inside he found a large room that was a mix of old and new. Jillian was in front of the near wall where a pair of large six burner stoves and ovens stood. Beside it was a bench that was currently piled high with cartons of eggs, packs of bacon and a huge stainless steel bowl full of onions.

“Angus sent me back to give you a hand,” Harry said as her eyes looked up quizzically at him.

She nodded and let out a breath of air signifying her relief. “Thanks, love. Pop those in the sink over there.”

Harry rounded the large centre bench to the twin sinks and deposited his dirty dishes inside. Then, seeing as he was going to be working with food, gave his hands a thorough wash.

“We don’t usually get tour buses stopping here, but when we do, Angus and I are often run off our feet. How are you at chopping, Hadrian?” Jillian asked.

Harry’s mind flittered back to Privet Drive and then across to a dark dingy potions lab. “Pretty good.”

“In that case, how about you start chopping up a bowl full of mushrooms. There’s a sack in the pantry,” Jillian instructed.

The _whoosh_ of the fire of the stove igniting sounded behind him as he entered the large walk-in room. Inside were shelves and bins full of all kinds of food. A second door inside indicated where the cold room could be found. A small sack sat on the floor near his feet, its mouth opened partway showing mushrooms. Picking it up, Harry went straight to the centre bench, found a cutting board on the lower shelf, grabbed up a knife out of the block and set to work.

Angus had appeared before the bowl was even a quarter full with the first half-dozen pages full of orders. After that, the kitchen became a blur of chopping and filleting, frying and toasting, sautéing and roasting. Harry and Jillian moved around each other in a cooking dance that saw them become infinitely familiar with both of their abilities in the kitchen.

Harry, for his part, stuck to the more basic parts of the meals – cooking the toast, chopping tomatoes and potatoes and more mushrooms and onions. Jillian was responsible for the stove work and plating up the orders that Angus gave them. Once they were far enough along, Jillian thrust a pair of loaded plates into his hands directed his gaze towards the floor plan on the back of the door to the kitchen, told him the table number and sent him out to begin delivering the meals.

Later, once all of the meals had been delivered and the kitchen was back in some semblance of order, he’d been sent back out to the dining room to collect the empty plates and drink ware. From there, his arms were plunged into soapy water as he became the dishwasher to Jillian’s drier.

Some three hours later, Harry found himself once more sitting at the counter in the pub, a tall glass of iced soft drink in front of him.

“You’ve got no idea how much your help meant to Jillian and me today, Hadrian,” Angus said as he relaxed on the stool beside him.

“Jillian said that you don’t get many tour buses through here,” Harry commented.

“Nah, we don’t,” Angus confirmed, “but when we do, it’s more than just the two of us can usually handle.”

Reaching across the bar, he picked up a small pile of notes and slapped them down on the bar in front of Harry.

“Here you go. Twenty pounds and you earned every penny of it. Your breakfast and drinks are on the house, of course,” Angus said.

The determined look on the old barkeep’s face froze Harry’s protest in his chest.

“Now, young Hadrian, me and the Misses had a quick talk before and we’ve got a proposition for you,” Angus said.

“Oh?” Harry questioned.

“Yeah. Yeah. Last time you were in, I think I was tellin’ ya Hadrian, that running this place can get a bit much for just the two of us old folk?”

Harry’s nod of remembrance was enough for Angus to continue.

“And after the bang up job you did for us this mornin’, we’d like to offer you a job with us,” he smiled. “It’d only be part-time, of course. Saturdays and Sunday afternoons if you can swing it.”

Harry nodded slowly. His immediate thought was to jump at the chance. A part-time job that’d get him out of Potter Haven and around some people each week sounded the perfect thing to starve away the cabin fever that was sure to build if he confined himself to the valley. And those times fitted in perfectly with his study timetable.

“What would I be doing?” he asked slowly.

“Much like this morning,” Angus explained. “Helping out in the kitchen with the cooking and cleaning; some tidying up; maybe some extra odd jobs here and there.”

Harry flicked his gaze around the large room, taking it all in.

“It’s not always like this morning,” Angus half smiled.

“Angus, I think that I’d like to take you up on your offer,” he said.

“Great. That’s really great,” Angus beamed, holding out his hand.

And on their handshake, the deal was done.


	11. Chapter 11

Severus Snape … was torn.

The objects of his disconcertion were sitting in front of him – three large trunks. They’d been delivered to his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a half an hour ago. And, apart from throwing the lids of them open, he’d done nothing but fall back into his seat and stare at them.

Inside, neatly lined up and packed with cushioning spells, were dozens and dozens of boxes, jars and containers. Each one was labelled in a neat clear handwriting: _basilisk venom, heartstring of basilisk, powdered basilisk fang, basilisk blood, cornea of a basilisk’s eye_ … On and on they went. Each and every container was worth its weight in gold, especially to a potioneer. These sorts of ingredients were all incredibly rare and used in some of the more obscure potions imaginable.

And the three trunks full of ingredients had simply been given to him. No payment necessary, only the simple note that asked him to use them wisely for the betterment of the students in the school, a task that he was eager to do.

Unfortunately, the main thrust of Potion Master Severus Snape’s unease was directed at who had given him such a gift.

Potter.

Oh, certainly, he recalled the moment down in the Chamber of Secrets when he’d approached the boy and asked for access to the slain beast to harvest it for potion ingredients and, while his rendering skills were politely declined, the boy had indicated that he’d be willing to share a portion of the carcass. But never had he actually believed that Potter would follow through.

There was simply far too much animosity between the two.

Thinking back over the past two years since the boy had come to Hogwarts, Severus was forced to admit that most of that animosity had been on his part. But how could there not be, the boy being the spitting image of his father. Except for his eyes, of course. Eyes that Severus could never look at without a stab of guilt and pain slamming into his chest.

No, if he was brutally honest, then _he_ was the main instigator of the ill-will between the two.

In his first year, the boy had shown a complete lack of skill, just like his father, so unlike his mother. Every potion class there had been _something_ that demonstrated that the boy had no skill. Grudgingly, he admitted that by the end of the year, he showed … promise. But that hadn’t stopped him from reminding the boy as much as possible just how mediocre and talentless he was. It was a way to put Potter in his place and to keep those damned eyes of his pointed at the ground and away from him.

And then had come Quirrell and his infernal battle to stop the thief from leaving the castle with the Philosopher’s Stone. Severus had caught him coming out of the third floor corridor with a triumphant grin plastered on his face, one hand clasped around a bulge in a pocket of his robe. He’d instantly realised what had happened and had challenged the man with his wand.

The stuttering fool though had been more talented than anyone ever realised. It was all that Severus had been able to do to simply hold his own. Their battle in the Entrance Hall had drawn unwanted attention, forcing Severus even more onto the defensive as he tried to keep the students from harm.

And then, just when he thought that he was going to be killed, help had arrived from Potter of all people. He’d tried to distract Quirrell. For an instant, he’d thought it’d worked. But the man had been too good, recovering far too quickly and putting Severus out of the fight.

When he’d awoken two days later and learnt of the aftermath of his battle with Quirrell – that Potter had saved two Slytherins from serious harm or possibly even death, before killing Quirrell with his bare hands, not to mention the fact that Quirrell had apparently been possessed by The Dark Lord at the time – he’d been stunned.

The boy had put himself on the line, risked likely death for _him_ , a person who’d gone out his way to make his life as miserable as possible. And then, to save two basic strangers from a rival House before defeating The Dark Lord once more. Severus had had to face a harsh truth that day: Potter had earned his respect, however grudging it was.

His hatred of the boy’s father was hard to overcome, not to mention his hatred of himself for what happened to the boys’ mother. In the end, all he could do was to vow to cease making the boys’ life harder than it was. Thus, Severus had just spent the previous year basically ignoring the boy.

Oddly, it’d had a positive effect on Potter’s potion skills. His awareness of ingredients and brewing skills had increased to the point where Severus was forced to award the boy not just passing grades, but even a collection of Exceeds Expectation, not to mention that one surprising Outstanding.

Of course, there’d been the accusations during the year that the boy was Dark simply because he had the ability to talk to snakes. Almost the entire school had not only shunned the boy but actively bullied him. The notion that Potter was the next Dark Lord was laughable – even he could see that. Now, thinking back on it, a pang of remorse shot through him as he remembered that he’d done nothing to stop his Slytherins’ attack of the boy.

And then Potter had been kidnapped, taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. By the time the boy had returned with that unbelievable story, Severus hadn’t known what to think. A boy of twelve killing a basilisk? Even with the evidence of his injuries, it was a story worthy of the trash that had been written about the boy during the years that Dumbledore had hidden him away.

Somehow, Potter had realised that he wouldn’t be believed and used that damnable Gryffindor courage to not only face the entire school, but to then take the prefects, professors, aurors and reporters down into the Chamber to prove his story. That adventure following the boy through the pipes and into the Chamber itself was the stuff of dreams. Severus had walked it in a daze until he’d seen the statue of Salazar Slytherin himself and the great basilisk dead within the Chamber.

And now he’d given three trunks worth of invaluable potion ingredients from that basilisk that the boy had killed.

The boy had earned his respect. He’d earned the right to be treated as his own person, not simply as a clone of his father. Somehow, Severus knew that his attitude to the boy needed to change once more. At least he had over a month before they’d come face to face once more in which to determine how he was going to interact with the b…Harry.

A silver phoenix winged into his office, alighting on the desk beside him, breaking him out of his reverie.

_“Severus, your presence, if you please,”_ Dumbledore’s patronus stated in that condescending tone that the Headmaster perpetually used.

The potion master grimaced as the phoenix patronus faded away.

Dumbledore. There was another problem that was interwoven with the b…Harry.

Ever since the ‘incident’ at King’s Cross Station, Dumbledore had been using him to attempt to find Potter. He’d been sent out to every known location that was connected with Potter. He’d staked out Petunia’s house, including infiltrating and searching it in the dead of night. He’d spent whole days watching that bookstore of his, _Hermione’s Book Nook_ , as well as the widow and her son that owned it. He’d questioned every child that could be considered Potter’s friend. He’d even been forced to watch Black and the werewolf.

Worst of all had been the time that Dumbledore had given him one of his precious silver trinkets and sent him to London. He’d traced the tracking charm on Potter’s glasses to a small muggle store that sold eyewear. After disillusioning himself, he’d gone in, following the trace until he’d opened a drawer filled with dozens of old glasses, including Harry’s.

Once more his eyes came to rest on the three trunks of potion ingredients at his feet. Harry had done exactly as he promised, no strings attached, simply for ‘the good of the students of Hogwarts’. There was no ambiguous ‘Greater Good’. Instead, a clearly defined thought of wanting to do good for all that wasn’t hidden away.

By now, he knew, Dumbledore would be expecting him to be well on his way.

Of its own accord, Severus’ mind began comparing the two.

One was full of his own self-importance. The other, loathe as he was to admit it, was small, never expecting to be given any special treatment. One had had decades of accolades and thrived on them. The other had had a decade of being famous but seemed to hate the attention. One kept everything to himself, sharing out only the meanest of scraps of information to others while he held the strings that made everyone dance. The other had gathered friends, friends that were loyal and worked with him. One had determined what he considered the ultimate goal for wizarding society, the exact shape that he wanted it to be and declared everything that worked towards it ‘The Greater Good’. The other gave of himself, expecting no reward.

There was no comparison and, when it came down to it, Severus wondered why he still did the bidding of Albus Dumbldore. He’d joined the Light and Dumbledore to keep his precious Lily safe. A task that Dumbledore had failed at. Both Lily and the Dark Lord was gone. Yes, Dumbledore had kept him from Azkaban, but surely he’d repaid enough of his life for that debt to be paid for now.

Lily was dead. The Dark Lord, the one who’d killed her, was dead. But Harry, Lily’s son, still lived. And right now, the son of the woman he still loved needed his help. Help that could be given simply by _not_ trying to find him.

Raising his wand, Severus cast, causing a silver doe to appear.

“Go to Dumbledore. Tell him that I just received a shipment of potion ingredients and will be unavailable for the foreseeable future.”

-oOoOo-

“What do you have there, Poppet?” Xenophilius Lovegood asked as he entered the rounded kitchen of the Rookery.

Luna spun around, causing her dirty blonde hair to flay out behind her.

“Morning, Daddy!” she exclaimed before bouncing over to wrap her father in a hug.

The crunch of parchment against his back caused Xenophilius to release his daughter after a shorter than normal hug.

“What’s that, Luna?” he asked, nodding at the sheaf of parchment in her hands.

“Oh, that’s the last of the notes that Harry Potter promised me,” Luna explained. “These ones are his Astronomy and Herbology notes from first year.”

Xenophilius smiled at the look of delight and awe on his daughter’s face. “That’s very kind of him.”

“Harry’s my friend,” Luna replied simply.

“Make sure that you thank him properly. Perhaps some gurdyroot seedlings might be appropriate to help him repel gulping plimpies, hmm?” Xenophilius suggested.

Luna’s face switched from thoughtfulness to excited in a matter of moments. “I’ll do that, Daddy. And maybe I’ll add in a butterbeer-cork necklace to chase away the nargles as well.”

After a quick hug, Luna skipped out of the room. With a contented sigh, Xenophilius eased his lanky form into the nearest kitchen chair. If Luna was getting help from her friends, then the exams that she was due to sit at the beginning of the next school year were nothing that he needed to worry about.

-oOoOo-

The chapter read, Harry snapped the book shut and tossed it the length of the desk. He watched it in disgust as it slid across the smooth surface before coming to rest with one edge just hanging in empty air. Enchanting, it seemed was going to be a _lot_ harder than he had expected.

Oh, the topic itself was fascinating – the ability to build protective charms into jewellery, giving a mirror a ‘personality’, creating multi-compartment trunks, even making musical instruments be able to play without the help of a human, just to name a few – but in practicality, it looked as though it was going to be one of the hardest subjects that he’d chosen to learn. At least for now all that it involved was reading. That was until he had not only a handle on the principles of Enchanting, but also a very good grasp of both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

There, too, were more subjects that, after a single ‘lesson’ Harry could tell were going to be a lot of work. Ancient Runes involved a lot of memorisation and copying before he could even begin learning how to place runes together to get them to do anything. Arithmancy, or ‘maths for magic’ as he’d decided to call it, was going to involve working methodically through the textbook of examples as well as reading about the theories of how magic worked.

And they were just three of the subjects that he was learning.

After his first full week of studying at Potter Haven, Harry had an inkling of what it was that he’d just bitten off. And he suspected that it could be more than he could chew.

Muggle Studies and History of Magic were alright. All they needed was for him to sit around and read. Astronomy wasn’t that much different – a bunch of reading before heading up to the attic, opening the roof and searching the heavens with the powerful telescope the goblins had procured for what he’d just been reading about.

Beginning Healing was another subject that thankfully seemed to be mostly about reading. At least for the first half of the book. After that, well …

Potions wasn’t _too_ bad. It was mostly continuing what he was doing last year – following the instructions and working methodically through the potion. The only difference was that, without a responsible adult around, he knew that he needed to take extra care with what he was doing. Especially when it came to the harder potions instead of the review work that he was currently doing.

Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts were the biggest worry that he knew that he was going to have once he got past the review work at the start of the texts. Sure, there were wizarding pictures that accompanied each new spell that demonstrated the correct wand movements, but he wondered how much that was going to help. In some things, he knew that there was no substitute for a real person. He guessed that he’d just have to wait and see.

At least when it came time to begin learning fencing and sword-work, Dobby had managed to obtain a couple of wizarding dummies that were enchanted to teach those disciplines. Idly, he wondered if there was something similar that he could get Dobby to find to help with Transfiguration, Charms and DADA.

Now that he had the greenhouses and the animal enclosure fairly well stocked, he suspected that those subjects could be a lot more interesting than they could be. Read about a plant or animal and then head outside to spend time physically examining the specimen and observing them in real life to see if what he was seeing matched up with what he’d read.

And then there were the meditative subjects. He wasn’t sure if he really should drop those two, but from what little he’d already read, they seemed really useful. Or at least, the end result seemed really useful.

Mind Arts or, as he’d come to understand after reading the first chapter of the book that he’d decided to begin his studies from, Occlumency and Legilimency, were the disciplines of protecting the mind from outside attacks and the art of invading another’s mind. Both, it seemed, involved a _lot_ of reading and then even more meditating on what he’d read and trying to understand how his mind worked. And according to the book, both were going to take a year or two to even begin to master.

Lastly, there was Animagi.

After hearing that both his father and Sirius were able to turn into animals, it had become something that he’d been eager to be able to do as well. Now, after reading the journal that the Marauders had created and more particularly the section about the process of becoming animagi, he wondered if it was even possible.

Apparently, in order to become animagi, he was going to need to spend hundreds of hours in meditation, much like with occlumency, learning about how his mind worked and more importantly, the various aspects and personalities that made him him. After that, there was a particularly complicated potion that needed to be brewed, a potion that would take about seven months to make, before he’d be able to take it.

After _that_ , there was still many more months of integrating the new-found knowledge of his animal form into his mind. Then there were advanced human transfiguration that he needed to learn. Finally, if everything came together the way that it should, then after something like two or three years, he _might_ finally be able to make the transformation.

Harry was well aware that trying to continue his magical education without some proper adult help was going to be incredibly hard, if not at times nearly impossible. But without a solution, all he could do for now was to struggle along by himself.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry quit the ‘classroom’. His first week of self-study was over.

Tomorrow he was due to have his first shift at the _Plough and Shear_. At least it’d give him something to do instead of mope around the manor alone on his thirteenth birthday. And that had to be an improvement over some of the birthdays that he’d had to endure with the Dursleys.


	12. Chapter 12

Amelia Bones shuffled the pieces of parchment in front of her for what must have been the tenth or eleventh time since she’d taken her seat. It wasn’t that she didn’t know their contents, far from it in fact – after so many times of reading through it, she could easily recite each one verbatim. No, the problem wasn’t one of unpreparedness, rather it was what they represented.

In a very few minutes, the Wizengamot would be called to session. A session where the main item on the agenda was the trial of one Albus Dumbledore. And that’s where her nerves came into play. Sure, she knew her facts and arguments, but that didn’t stop the feeling of ‘wrongness’ that pervaded her entire being.

Albus Dumbledore – the greatest hero alive in magical Great Britain; the defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald; one of the most influential men for the past decade; the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; the United Kingdom’s representative to the International Confederation of Warlocks and that body’s Supreme Mugwamp. If one man embodied all that was right and good, Albus Dumbledore was it and it was now her job to prosecute him.

It’d been bad enough questioning him and then serving him notice of today’s hearing. The fact that for so many years, indeed all of her life, she’d looked up to and respected the man had made that job so much harder than any other time that she’d done it.

Thankfully, Amelia knew that she had her forms and procedures to fall back on.

_Ignore the man; do the job_ , had become her mantra over the past days as she’d been working towards this moment.

Around her, the shuffling of robes was settling down and she looked up to take in her surroundings.

Courtroom Ten was the largest courtroom in the Ministry of Magic, being large enough to hold all one hundred and one members of the Wizengamot in great tiered seats around a central stoned area where those on trial stood to be judged. Above the Wizengamot stands, were the visitors’ gallery and the press box. Today, both of those areas were also packed with people.

As her gaze shifted around the numerous Lords and Wizengamot members, Amelia picked out various individuals. Over to her far left sat Lord Black and Lord Greengrass, their heads bent towards each other in conversation. On the tier directly above her sat Minister Fudge and his Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge.

As she made eye contact with the Minister, he gave her a small nod and picked up his gavel.

“This session of the Wizengamot, the twenty-seventh of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-three on the fifth of August, is called to session,” Fudge intoned as he banged his gavel the required three times.

Once all movement and susurration had ceased, he continued.

“Scribe Hensley, are you prepared?”

“Yes, Sir,” the fresh faced blonde woman replied, momentarily giving off an air of calmness before her flustered appearance resumed its normal place as she pulled parchment, ink and quills to her.

“Very well, very well,” Fudge replied, placing the gavel beside his lime green bowler that sat on his desk before him. “Members of the Wizengamot. We have only one item on the docket for today – the trial of Albus Dumbledore.”

“You can’t be serious!” a voice called from up near the top of the stands.

“I don’t think Dumbledore’s capable of doing anything wrong!” another called from amongst the loud muttering that had broken out all around the chamber.

A swift crack of Fudge’s gavel brought the room back into a semblance of quiet.

“I’m sure that we’re all equally shocked by this turn of events,” Fudge stated as he turned in his seat to face his peers. “Nevertheless, charges have been laid against the Chief Warlock by the DMLE. Madam Bones, are you ready to proceed?”

Amelia rose from her seat. “I am.”

“Very well, very well,” Fudge all but dithered. “Guards, bring in the accused.”

Amelia watched as two of her red-robed aurors nodded and disappeared through the door that they were stationed beside. While they were gone, a hole in the middle of the stone floor opened and a hard backed wooden chair with chains dangling from its armrests rose into place. A moment or two later, the doors opened for Dumbledore and the guards to enter.

Albus Dumbledore strode into the room, his head held high, an air of confidence oozing off of him. Three steps into the room, he paused and gazed around at those assembled around him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Amelia felt the full impact of that gaze. Instantly, she felt like a naughty girl who’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin, and her grandfather thoroughly disapproved of it to boot.

With a deft mental shrug, Amelia threw off that feeling, focussing instead on the fact that she was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, there to do the job entrusted to her.

For his part, Dumbledore strode to the centre of the room, gave the defendant’s chair a single look before drawing his wand and conjuring a plush red armchair that clashed horribly with his deep midnight blue robes.

“Mister Dumbledore!” Amelia snapped as the aged wizard sat, steepled his fingers and began to ‘scold’ everyone present over the top of his glasses once more. “This is a court of law and you are the defendant. You have five seconds to remove yourself from that chair before I vanish it. You _will_ sit in the defendant’s chair.”

Dumbledore switched his gaze to her before giving an exaggerated sigh and standing. Immediately, Amelia drew her wand, pointed it at the conjured chair and vanished it.

“Oh, I say, there was no need for that,” a voice that Amelia recognised as Tiberius Ogden’s announced to general approval.

Amelia, though, was having none of that. Standing, she whirled to face the members around her.

“This is a court of law. No matter the identity of the person who is down there being judged, the proper procedures must be followed. If they’re not, then the Wizengamot itself becomes nothing more than a farce!”

Sirius, she saw, nodded in approval. Lords Malfoy and Nott on the other hand, momentarily dropped their masks allowing a fierce scowl to shine through. Those two were only two of many who’d managed to buy their way out of having to take the defendant’s chair over a decade ago. Unfortunately, that was long before Amelia rose to the position that she now had.

“Madam Bones is correct,” Minister Fudge nodded, putting an end to the discussion before it could truly begin.

Beside the Minister, Amelia saw a small smirk appear on Umbridge’s face and guessed at its reason – Fudge, and by extension Umbridge, would see Dumbledore as a threat to his power base. More than once already this year, Dumbledore had simply overridden the Minister’s view in the Wizengamot through a deft word or two. Any threat to the Minister’s popularity and powerbase was sure to be swiftly dealt with by the two of them.

“Scribe Hensley, kindly read the charges against Mister Dumbledore,” Fudge instructed.

“Minister Fudge, my proper title is Chief Warlock,” Dumbledore interrupted.

“Yes, yes, normally that would be so,” Fudge replied. “However, as you’re the one on trial, it would be most confusing for you to be called by that title. And before you suggest it, ‘Supreme Mugwump’ is also out of the question.”

“In that case, I must insist that you refer to me as ‘Headmaster Dumbledore’,” Dumbledore smiled.

“As you wish, then,” Fudge submitted. “Scribe Hensley?”

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is charged with attempting to harm a magical child under the age of seventeen, namely one Harry James Potter; attempting to harm the magic of another, namely one Harry James Potter; and, due to Mister Potter being the last of his line, with the attempted eradication of a magical line, that is, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter,” Scribe Hensley read.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. How do you plead?” Fudge asked.

“Not guilty,” Dumbledore stated boldly, the air of confidence once more rolling off the wizard in waves.

“Very well,” Fudge replied. “Madam Bones, are you prepared to proceed?”

“I am, Minister,” Amelia replied after rising from her seat.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Do you have legal representation today?” Fudge asked.

“I will be representing myself, Cornelius,” Dumbledore replied.

“That’s Minister Fudge, Headmaster Dumbledore,” Fudge frowned.

A nod and a half-smile was Dumbledore’s only reply.

At Fudge’s nod, Amelia took a deep breath and began her opening speech.

“On the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three, at approximately five thirty in the afternoon, a massive magical discharge was detected on the muggle side of King’s Cross Station.  Two squads of aurors and a squad of obliviators were immediately dispatched to deal with the potential breach of the Statute of Secrecy.

“Upon arrival, it was discovered that ninety-three muggles and thirty-seven magicals had been affected by a magical blast. The shockwave from that blast had knocked everyone to the floor within a radius of forty feet. Fortunately, the only injury was sustained by Headmaster Dumbledore who was lying beside a concrete pillar with a head wound.

“After questioning of the witnesses, it was determined that the magical discharge was the result of accidental magic performed by Harry James Potter after an altercation with Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“If the Potter boy’s the one who threatened the Statute of Secrecy, why’s Albus on trial?” a voice called, a question that was immediately echoed around the chamber.

“That question will be answered shortly,” Madam Bones stated sharply, silencing the raised voices.

“Although Mister Potter has remained unavailable to us,” Amelia continued, “we have interviewed multiple witnesses and gathered enough evidence to piece together what happened that day and why Mister Potter performed such a strong bout of accidental magic.”

Turning to face the old wizard who looked a trifle uncomfortable seated in the wooden chair, Amelia began her questioning.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Can you please inform the Wizengamot of the events leading up to as well as the event in question?” she asked.

“I have no recollection of the event whatsoever. The last thing that I can remember before what you say happened at King’s Cross Station is the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts the evening before,” Dumbledore replied.

“Why is that, Headmaster?” Amelia asked.

“Ah, you see, the Healers at St. Mungo’s told me that when I struck my head, I lost my recent memories. Whether or not I ever recover them remains to be seen,” Dumbledore replied.

Amelia turned back to face the Wizengamot. “As Headmaster Dumbledore is unable to tell us of the event, I would like to call some eye-witnesses to the event in question.”

At Fudge’s consent, Amelia turned to find one particular face.

“Lord Greengrass, I understand that you were in the muggle side of King’s Cross Station at the time in question?”

“I was, Madam Bones,” Cyrus confirmed as he rose from his seat.

“Please tell this court what you observed that day,” she instructed.

“To be honest, Madam Bones, I didn’t see much. I was at King’s Cross along with my wife, Penelope and my daughter Astoria to meet my eldest, Daphne, off of the train. I recall seeing Mister Potter, although we did not speak. A short time later, I noticed Mister Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore in what looked to be an intense conversation. Headmaster Dumbledore, I believe, was holding Mister Potter’s arm at the time. I turned away to speak to my daughter when a wave of magic washed over us causing me to stumble.”

“So, to clarify. You were too far away to hear the altercation between Mister Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore and you did not actually witness the magical discharge.”

“That’s correct, Madam Bones,” Cyrus replied.

“Thank you, Lord Greengrass,” Amelia bowed, allowing him to retake his seat. “I’d now like to call Doctor Daniel Richard Granger to give his testimony of the events in question.”

At her announcement, one of her aurors on guard duty ducked through the door before returning a couple of minutes later with the man in question. Mister Granger’s eyes were huge and his head swivelled this way and that as he took in the massive chamber around him. He was dressed in a simple muggle business suit, a choice of attire that stood out in direct contrast to the many robed witches and wizards in the room.

“A muggle! You brought a muggle into our hallowed halls!” Lucius Malfoy’s sneer cut through the babble that had arisen at Mister Granger’s appearance.

The banging of Fudge’s gavel eventually cut through the constant babble enough for him to restore order.

“Madam Bones. I trust that you have a good reason for this!” Fudge demanded.

“I do, Minister,” she replied, allowing a hint of steel into her voice. “Doctor Granger is cleared to know about our world by the simple fact that his daughter is a witch. He is a respected Healer in the muggle world.” Turning, she addressed the bewildered man who was nervously eying the chained chair that Dumbledore was currently sitting in.

“Mister Granger. Thank you for coming today,” she said. “For the record, could you explain your connection to the magical world?”

Daniel Granger nodded. “My daughter, Hermione, is a student at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Mister Granger. I’d like you to recount for us what happened at King’s Cross Station on the thirtieth of June of this year. It is my understanding that you were the closest adult, either magical or muggle in the vicinity of the event.”

“My wife and I were, yes,” he replied before beginning his recollection.

“I was there with my wife to meet Hermione off of the train. We hadn’t been there long when Hermione’s friend Harry arrived. He wanted one last word with our daughter before the holidays and the two stepped away a little for privacy. They hadn’t been talking long when their Headmaster,” here he jerked a thumb at Dumbledore, “appeared. There looked to be some sort of argument. There were definitely raised voices although I couldn’t hear what was being said. The Headmaster grabbed Harry by the arm and both Harry and Hermione became agitated. Harry looked to even be trying to pull his arm away. The Headmaster was stronger though and began dragging Harry towards a concrete pillar. That’s when a red light exploded out of Harry. My wife and I were knocked some ten or fifteen feet away.”

“Thank you, Doctor Granger,” Madam Bones said. “As a Healer, what conclusions would you draw from what you witnessed?”

“Well, the obvious one was that the Headmaster was trying to take Harry away against his will. In the muggle world, that’s called kidnapping,” Dan replied.

“And what about the magical discharge?” Madam Bones asked.

“I don’t believe that Mister Granger, as a muggle, is qualified to answer a question about magic,” Dumbledore interjected.

“He’s right, Madam Bones,” Fudge stated. “Please disregard the question, Doctor Granger.”

“Thank you, Doctor Granger,” Madam Bones concluded. As Dan was leaving, Madam Bones called for her last witness to the event.

“I call Hermione Jane Granger to give her testimony of the events in question.”

A nervous but determined looking Hermione was escorted into the chamber. After a single look towards Dumbledore, she resolutely faced Madam Bones and kept her gaze locked on to the older woman.

“Miss Granger. Could you detail your connection to Mister Harry Potter?” Amelia began.

“Harry and I have both just completed our second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Hermione replied in a voice that quickly lost its warble the longer that she talked. “We’re both in Gryffindor House and we’ve been best friends since our very first train ride.”

“You were witness to the altercation between Harry and Headmaster Dumbledore on the afternoon of the thirtieth of June?” Amelia asked.

“I was,” Hermione nodded.

“Please tell us what happened.”

“Harry and I were having a private conversation when Headmaster Dumbledore suddenly appeared. He said that he was there to take Harry back to his Aunt and Uncle’s place. When Harry refused, the Headmaster grabbed his arm. Harry tried to explain that he’d made a magical vow that he’d never go there again, but the Headmaster didn’t believe him and began to drag him behind a pillar to apparate away. Harry tried to fight him but he couldn’t get free. That’s when magic burst out of Harry. It looked like it came from his arm, right where Headmaster Dumbledore was holding him.”

“Did Headmaster Dumbledore say why he wanted Mister Potter to return to his Aunt and Uncle?” Amelia asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No, all he said was that, as his guardian, he got to decide where he should go. But he’s not Harry’s guardian, that’s Lord Black and Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you for your time today, Miss Granger,” Amelia smiled.

She waited until the door had closed behind the girl before turning to Dumbledore.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, before I proceed, you have heard the accounts from three witnesses to the event in question. Is there anything that you’d like to add?” Madam Bones asked.

“Simply that I was unaware that I had been replaced as Harry’s guardian at the time,” the old man replied. “It wasn’t until three days after the event that I was informed of the change.”

Amelia gave a short, sharp nod to acknowledge the point. Then, “why were you taking Mister Potter to his Aunt and Uncle’s place. Is it usual for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to personally escort students at the end of term instead of having that students’ family or guardians meet them off of the train?”

“Young Harry had run away from home the previous summer and I felt it prudent to escort him back home again to ensure that there was no ill-will between them,” Dumbledore replied.

“Was it likely that there would have been ill-will between Mister Potter and his muggle relatives?” Amelia asked.

However, before Dumbledore could answer, the chamber erupted around them.

“Muggles?”

“The Boy-Who-Lived lives with muggles?”

“Whose bloody idea was that?”

After the constant banging of Fudge’s gavel had no effect, it took a cannon-like blast from the Minister’s wand to restore order.

“There was some … possibility that there could be some resentment due to the fact that Harry had run away,” Dumbledore finally replied.

Glancing around the chamber, Amelia decided to deviate a small way from the questions that she’d prepared.

“Why was Mister Potter being returned to muggles instead of to his magical relations?” she asked.

“Harry’s mother’s sister is his closest living relative,” Dumbledore replied airily, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

“That may be, but it is a well-known fact that Mister Potter’s paternal grandmother was a Black. Surely there were magical relatives that would have been better for Mister Potter to go to? Sirius Black and Andromeda Tonks nee Black both spring to mind, just two of James Potter’s many second cousins,” Amelia pointed out.

“At the time it was decided that it was in young Harry’s best interest that he distance himself from the magical world,” Dumbledore stated in a tone of voice that said that that discussion was now closed.

“I believe that we’re getting off-topic here, Madam Bones,” Minister Fudge interjected.

“Quite right, Minister,” Amelia acknowledged. “Headmaster Dumbledore. From the testimony that we heard earlier, one of the biggest influences for the discharge of accidental magic from Mister Potter seems to have centred around the magical vow that he took nearly a year ago stating that he would never spend another night with his relatives. Why were you ignoring that vow?”

“Not being able to remember the event, I can only speculate,” Dumbledore replied. “I would assume that I was ignoring it simply because it was a non-issue.”

Amelia blanched. “Why would you believe that?”

“Simply because the odds of a child as young as Harry making a magical vow are so low as to be almost non-existent. In all my many years as an educator and as a member of the Wizengamot, I have never heard of a magical vow being made by one so young,” he stated.

Biting back her retort, Amelia turned in place until she faced Madam Umbridge.

“Madam Umbridge. Last August, I believe that it was on the twenty-ninth, you and I were part of a panel for a breach of the Decree for the Restriction for Underage Wizardry. Who was the defendant?”

With obvious reluctance, Umbridge rose to her feet, not that anyone could tell the difference with how short she was. “Harry Potter.”

“And what was he charged with doing that broke the decree?” Madam Bones persisted.

“Making a magical vow,” Umbridge replied.

“One last question, Madam Umbridge,” Amelia stated. “Who else was in attendance that day?”

“Malfalda Hopkirk, Scribe Delaney and Headmaster Dumbledore,” she replied with a large grin.

Turning back, Amelia eyed the old wizard. “You were there that day, Headmaster Dumbledore. You knew that Mister Potter had made that magical vow. Regardless of whether or not you had encountered the like before, you should have known better! I call Unspeakable Johnson to the Chamber.”

A minute later, a tall man wearing deep grey robes strode into the room. With the hood of his robe up, combined with the deep black beard that he sported, all that could be seen of the man was the tip of his nose and the occasional flash of teeth whenever he spoke.

“Unspeakable Johnson. Thank you for coming,” Amelia said.

The man gave the smallest nod of his head.

“It is my understanding that you are an expert in magical vows. Could you please tell this court what would have happened to Mister Potter had he been forced to return to his relatives.”

“Nothing,” a deep voice rumbled. “However, if he had spent the night there with them, which was a part of the vow that Mister Potter undertook, then in simple terms, he would have lost his magic. In short, he would have become a squib.”

Once again the chamber erupted with angry mutterings, this time about the fact that one of their heroes, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, had come perilously close to losing his magic.

“Would this outcome have had any bearing on the events that occurred at King’s Cross Station?” Amelia asked.

“Every bearing,” Unspeakable Johnson replied. “Mister Potter was fully aware of the vow that he took. He knew what would happen to him. His _magic_ knew what he was being threatened with. And knowing that, his magic would have reacted to protect itself.”

“The magical discharge?” Amelia clarified.

The dark hood nodded. “Exactly. Mister Potter’s magic erupted to remove the danger. Quite spectacularly I might add. And in a not unpredictable way.”

“Would this effect happen any time his magic is threatened?” Amelia asked.

“That is too broad a question with no easy answer. No two events are exactly alike so the chances of the exact same result occurring is extremely low,” Unspeakable Johnson replied.

“Thank you, Unspeakable Johnson,” Amelia said before turning to Fudge to indicate that she had concluded her prosecution for the time being.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Do you have any defence that you would like to put forward?” Fudge asked.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and peered over the top of his spectacles at the members of the Wizengamot.

“You all know me. I have championed the Light my entire life. I stand for the Greater Good. You can trust that I will always do what is needful for the Greater Good. In this instance, it seems that I was simply unaware of some of the facts. There may well be other factors involved that I simply cannot recall with my memory loss. Yes, you have heard from some witnesses but you have not heard from the two people involved, simply because I cannot remember and young Harry is still missing. I would ask that you remember that when you make your decision.”

Saying this, he bowed his head, obviously waiting for judgement to be passed.

And then the debate began.

Dozens of minutes passed as various members of the Wizengamot stood up to give their opinion. And for each person that stood, it seemed that there were twice that many opinions expressed, from the ‘he can’t be convicted for what he can’t recall’, to the ‘he tried to make the Boy-Who-Lived lose his magic’, and even the simple ‘but it’s Dumbledore!’.

After nearly half an hour of debate, Fudge banged his gavel, bringing the chamber back to order.

“Right, I think everyone’s had time to decide,” he stated before casting two clear bubbles that rose into the centre of the chamber.

“We will vote on each charge. Vote guilty by sending a jet of magic into the left bubble, not guilty by sending a jet of magic into the right bubble. On the charge of attempting to harm a magical child under the age of seventeen, please vote now.”

Around the chamber, wands were raised and flashes of magic shot across the room until the left hand bubble was a brilliant shade of red, as opposed to the right hand bubble which was a dull pink.

“Guilty!” Fudge declared before vanishing the bubbles and replacing them with two fresh clear ones.

“Please vote on the charge of attempting to harm the magic of another,” Fudge instructed.

Once again magic shot across the room. This time, the colour of the bubbles was much closer.

“Guilty!” Fudge declared, before once again replacing the voting bubbles.

“And lastly, please vote on the charge of the attempted eradication of a magical line, that is, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.”

This time, the colours in the bubbles were reversed, with a slightly darker red colouring showing in the right bubble, not that Amelia had expected any different. This charge carried a much more severe penalty and the fact that Dumbledore had claimed to not believe that the vow was in effect gave him the benefit of the doubt.

For a brief couple of minutes, Fudge and Umbridge put their heads together before finally Fudge rose to his feet.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you have been found guilty of attempting to harm a magical child under the age of seventeen, namely one Harry James Potter; and attempting to harm the magic of another, namely one Harry James Potter. You are sentenced to a fine of ten thousand galleons per charge. In addition, you are hereby removed from being eligible to be the magical guardian for any orphans or muggleborn students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That job will henceforth be shared between the appropriate child’s Head of House.”

Amelia watched as Dumbeldore’s eyes flashed with annoyance for a fraction of a second. In fact, if she hadn’t been looking for it, she doubted that she even would have noticed it. Instead, what he showed the public was a calm, stoic face. When he was sure that Fudge had finished, Dumbledore stood, nodded once and strode from the room.

Gathering her notes, Amelia gave a small sigh. She hadn’t enjoyed that. Prosecuting someone as great as Dumbledore wasn’t something that she ever wanted to do again. On the up side, at least now she knew that, if it ever came to it, she could put her feelings aside to prosecute anyone. Even Harry Potter once his trial finally came about. The only difference there, she knew, was that after today, the odds of him being convicted had just taken a drastic shift towards the highly unlikely.


	13. Chapter 13

After stretching languidly, Harry blinked to take in the early morning light. He groped blindly for his glasses before putting them on and bringing the world into focus.

By the looks of things, it was not long past dawn, too early really for getting up but at the same time, far too late to even attempt to go back to sleep. Mentally, he reviewed his day ahead: it was a Saturday, which meant he would be off to the _Plough_ later. And it was to be a late shift too. Angus had mentioned that there was a busload coming in for dinner and had asked Harry to stay a bit later.

Half-heartedly, Harry threw off his blankets, swung himself out of bed and padded across to his dresser. A smile so wide that it nearly split his face broke out as he spotted the line of birthday cards atop the dresser. Every time he saw them it was the same, but then, why wouldn’t it be? _These_ were the first birthday cards that he’d ever received.

There on the end was the beautifully hand-made card from Luna with the strangest creature with curled horns on top of its head that she’d painted on the front of it. Next to it was card from Neville. Hermione’s card held pride of place in the centre, with Sirius’ to its right. And, rounding out the lot was the small, simple card from Professor McGonagall. They’d been sitting there for a week now ever since his birthday last Saturday and he had no intention of taking them down for a long time to come.

-oOoOo-

“Morning, Dobby,” Harry called as he strode into the kitchen.

“Good morning Master Harry Sir,” the little elf bounced, “is Master Harry Sir wanting some breakfast?”

“It’s Saturday, Dobby,” Harry reminded him, only to see a pair of large bat-like ears droop.

“Maybe just a piece of toast, then,” Harry relented, causing those ears to spring back into life at the same time as the gaudily dressed elf began rocketing around the kitchen.

“There you is, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby beamed as he placed a plate piled with four pieces of toast in front of where Harry sat at the bench.

With a sigh, he picked up the top piece and took a bite. He simply knew that he’d just done the wrong thing. Saturdays were supposed to be Dobby’s day off. But now that he’d given in once, he’d be tempted to do it again. The problem was that he could see how much it meant to his little friend to be allowed do things for him. What was worse was what he was going to get Dobby to do later that evening. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped.

“Dobby, do you remember what I asked you to do tonight?” Harry asked.

A large grey head nodded vigorously. “Dobby knows, Master Harry Sir. Dobby can do the glamours easy. Dobby won’t let Master Harry down.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry smiled through a mouthful of toast. “Go have fun doing whatever it is that you do on your day off, okay? I’ll see you tonight.”

With a sad look, Dobby raised one hand and snapped his fingers, disappearing with a small _pop_.

With a sigh, Harry pulled the Goblin Postal Service Box to him to examine his mail.

Opening the lid, he found a pair of letters along with his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Placing the letters to one side for now, Harry unfolded the paper. Seeing the headline, he was glad that he hadn’t been drinking just then, otherwise he was sure that he would have sprayed it everywhere.

_Dumbledore Guilty!_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Yesterday saw the trial of Albus Dumbledore held in front of a full court of the Wizengamot to determine exactly what happened at King’s Cross Station on June 30 this year._

_As readers will recall, it was then that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, suffered from a burst of ‘accidental magic’ on the muggle side of King’s Cross putting our entire world at risk. Madam Amelia Bones and the DMLE’s investigation determined that the other culprit from that day was the Chief Warlock himself!_

_Under questioning, Dumbledore claimed that he couldn’t remember the incident at all. Apparently, the injuries he suffered that day have affected the ‘greatest mind in the wizarding world’! Madam Bones countered this by bringing in witnesses to the incident, including a muggle. That’s right readers, the most revered members of our society were yesterday subjected to the presence of a mere muggle!_

_It seems that The-Boy-Who-Lived was in the midst of a private conversation with fellow Hogwarts student Hermione Granger, a rather plain-looking twelve year old, when they were interrupted by Dumbledore himself. This reporter wonders exactly what that conversation entailed? Was it simply a conversation between two friends or was it, as many suspect, a romantic interlude between Harry Potter and his first love?_

_Either way, Dumbledore’s interference and attempt to circumvent a magical vow that was taken by Harry Potter, resulted in the bout of accidental magic and subsequent disappearance of The-Boy-Who-Lived._

_According to expert of magical vows, Unspeakable Johnson, Dumbledore attempting to force Mister Potter to return to live with his muggle relatives in violation of the vow that he had taken, forced his magic to react exactly as was expected. (Potter’s magic knocked every person, magical and muggle alike to the floor throughout King’s Cross Station as well as throwing the Chief Warlock headfirst into a concrete pillar.) Of course, this reporter wonders exactly how dangerous The-Boy-Who-Lived is when even his accidental magic causes that kind of damage._

_Dumbledore’s pleas of ignorance of the magical vow when he was present at Potter’s trial for breaking the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry for making said vow left all within the chamber wondering exactly how mentally capable the once revered Chief Warlock was. And that, combined with his ‘memory loss’ of the June thirty event, meant that his guilt in his part that led up to the event was a forgone conclusion._

_While Dumbledore’s fine and removal as the magical guardian for all muggleborn and orphaned children at Hogwarts was welcomed by all, one has to wonder why a person who can place a child in such danger can still be considered acceptable as the Headmaster for one of the most prestigious schools in Europe._

_This reporter sincerely hopes that the parents of our children take an active interest in the happenings of Hogwarts while such a person remains in charge of their education._

Wide-eyed, Harry dropped the paper to the counter-top. Dumbledore had been found guilty of causing him to have an accidental magical outburst? Did that mean that he wasn’t responsible for what happened? Could he go home without having to worry about being charged and having his wand snapped? Could he see his friends again?

Hands shaking, he picked up the letter that was addressed to him in his godfather’s untidy scrawl.

_Hey Pup,_

_How are you? Wherever you are, I hope that you’re trying to live your life, not just staying hidden away. Wherever that is, you must be doing something right – no-one has a clue where you’re hiding. But it doesn’t make it easy for those you’ve left behind. Take some time to write some more, hey? We all miss you heaps – me, Remus, even Minerva._

_Now, I’m guessing that you’ve probably already heard about Dumbledore’s trial, what with that_ Prophet _subscription that Beth took out for you. But knowing the_ Prophet _, I doubt that you’ve got a proper picture of what really happened._

_So, here goes:_

_Madam Bones managed to get Dumbledore convicted on two of the three charges that she brought him up on. Really, it’s the best that we could hope for. Convicting Dumbledore was always going to be an iffy thing at best – the man simply has gathered more allies than he knows what to do with._

_The upshot is that he’s been found guilty of causing you to lose control and have that accidental magic burst at King’s Cross._

_But unfortunately, that doesn’t change a lot for you. Yes, Dumbledore was the cause, but you were the one who did the magic. Dumbledore’s guilty verdict will help when and if you’re ever brought to trial. Julius Tentridge, the lawyer that I hired for you, was pleased as anything about the guilty verdict and set to work to use that combined with whatever else he’s got in mind as part of your defence. Unfortunately, he’s not quite ready yet._

_Neither of us can work out whether you being hidden away like you are is going to hurt your case or help it. You ran, which is a bad thing, but it gives us more time to work on your defence, which is good._

_Anyway, enough of that._

_You said in your last letter that you’re starting to teach yourself magic? I don’t know that that’s a good idea, pup. At your age, doing magic without an adult to help you could get you into a world of trouble, either with trying to control what you’re doing or reversing whatever damage you end up doing to either yourself or whatever’s around you. Perhaps it’d be best if you simply work on the theory for now, huh?_

_I can already guess your answer but if you really want to continue learning magic where you are, how about letting me or Remus or someone come and stay with you. Promise that you’ll at least think about it._

_Let us know what you decide._

_Sirius._

Harry slowly refolded the letter and stuffed it back into its envelope. He really wasn’t sure what to think about Sirius’ idea. Sure he’d love to have someone else besides Dobby around but he was sure that with every other person that joined him in Potter Haven, the danger of being discovered would increase exponentially.

And besides, he was doing alright at the moment, not that he’d actually tried to do a lot of magic – he’d been concentrating on the theory at the moment. Really, the most dangerous thing that he’d been doing was the sword work that he’d been attempting to learn by copying the training dummy down in the basement.

Putting those thoughts aside for later, Harry picked up the second letter that was waiting for him and smiled. He’d recognise that neat, elegant handwriting anywhere.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I’ve been so worried about you. I know that you keep saying that you’re somewhere safe, but that doesn’t stop me worrying. I really wish that you’d tell someone where you are but I do understand why you don’t, not that I like it mind you, just that I understand._

_I thought that I’d take the chance to send this to you while I’m still in England. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Professor Dumbledore was put on trial for making you perform accidental magic back at King’s Cross. My dad and I were called as witnesses to the event, so Madam Bones arranged for our whole family to get International Portkeys to and from America for the trial._

_It was a bit daunting having to tell the whole Wizengamot what happened, but I managed it. Dad said that it felt like he’d gone back in time to visit a medieval court and I can’t say that he’s wrong._

_Professor Dumbledore was found guilty so hopefully that means that everyone can stop blaming you and the charges will be dropped and you can come home soon. Fingers crossed, anyway._

_We’ve already spent three weeks in America for my parents to go to their Dental Conference. I must admit that it’s been a bit boring so far. I’ve been stuck in the hotel most of the time. At least I’ve been able to read ahead in our texts for this coming year._

_Mum and Dad have promised to take me to Salem for the last couple of days of our trip. They’ve got a small museum in the middle of their magical district that’s sure to be fascinating. I can’t wait to see it. I promise to buy you a souvenir, but I’m not going to give it to you until I see you again. Perhaps that’ll make you come out of hiding!_

_Do be careful while you’re on your own, I’ve read of far too many instances of magical accidents that have happened to people who have tried magic unsupervised._

_Is there any chance at all that everything’ll be cleared up in time for you to come back to Hogwarts with us? It won’t be the same if you’re not there. How will I continue with my flying lessons without my instructor, hmm?_

_I better go, Dad says the Portkey’s going to activate in ten minutes._

_I miss you, Harry. Stay safe._

_Love, Hermione._

Harry’s eyes unfocussed as he slowly lowered the letter to the counter-top. In his mind, he was picturing Hermione writing to him, her eyes sparkling away, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she thought hard about what to write.

With a rough shake of his head, he pushed the image aside. No. There was no chance that he was going to be seeing his best friend any time soon. And especially not at Hogwarts. Even if the charges against him were cleared up, there was still that small matter that he’d been expelled. As things stood at the moment, it could be years before he saw Hermione again.

A quick glance at the clock let him know that if he didn’t hurry he was going to be late. Leaving everything where it was, Harry snagged one last piece of toast before bolting for the front door.

-oOoOo-

_Da dada … da da dada da da_

Harry spun around, his left hand coming up to ensure that the large tray balanced on his right arm stayed put.

Looking across the room, he sought out the source of music echoing through the _Plough and Shear_. The opposite side of the pub was still mostly full, unlike the empty restaurant half that he was currently in the process of cleaning up. Shuffling sideways a little, he managed to get a clear line of sight to the small stage against the far wall.

There, seated upon a tall stool, sat Angus. Above him, a single spotlight of intense white shone down upon his mostly bald head, not that Angus seemed to have noticed it at all. No, Angus’ eyes were closed and he looked to be off in a world of his own, a world made entirely from the music that he was making.

In his hands, one end firmly between his lips, was a large golden instrument; a saxophone, Harry realised. Harry watched, mesmerised as Angus played through the tune that had the audience enraptured. Harry didn’t really know much about music, but he instantly knew that _this_ he liked. It was mostly slow with the occasional upbeat bar or two thrown in for good measure.

As he watched, he noticed one or two of the crowd swaying slightly, others tapping their feet or nodding their heads. All too soon, the tune was over but before anyone could clap, Angus had launched into a second song, this one faster and livelier. Harry found himself smiling and his fingers began tapping away on the tray in his hands.

He stood there, watching for the whole song, mesmerised by the tune, in awe of the sound and incredibly attracted to the instrument in Angus’ hands.

A sharp knock on the wood at the bar snapped Harry back to reality and he looked across to see Jillian leaning behind the bar, a smile on his lips even as she gestured to the room behind him. With a sheepish smile, Harry spun around and got back to work.

The crowd that’d been in that night had filled the restaurant part of the pub almost to overflowing, making hours of work for all three of them. Harry had spent most of his time either in the kitchen helping with the preparation of the meals or delivering said meals to their customers. Now the bus had left and it was Harry’s job to clean off the tables and to wash up the detritus that was left.

As he worked ferrying dirty plates, silverware and cups to the kitchen, his ears never strayed from the dulcet tones coming from Angus’ sax. It seemed to lend his feet wings and the work felt lighter. Even when he was confined to the kitchen washing the dishes, his ears strained to hear the music.

Song after song filled the entire pub until suddenly, it came to an end accompanied by the sounds of dozens of people applauding the mini concert that they’d been given.

-oOoOo-

“That was amazing, Angus!” Harry exclaimed as he emerged from the kitchen a short while later, his hands busy wiping themselves on a dishcloth.

With a smile and a wave, Angus brushed off his compliment. “Ta be honest, it was a bit rusty. Bin a while since I played a tune.”

“You need to do it more often,” Jillian admonished. “You know everyone loves to hear you play.”

“Everyone, huh?” Angus asked.

“Yes, everyone,” Jillian replied. “Especially me, as well you know.”

“How long have you been playing?” Harry asked, his eyes drifting to the golden instrument resting on a stand up on the stage.

“More years than I like to remember,” Angus replied and then, after eyeing Harry up and down, “come to think of it, I reckon I was aboot your age when I first picked up me first sax.”

“Is it hard to play?” he asked eagerly.

“About as hard as any other instrument, I suppose. But you’ll never find another sound to match it,” Angus replied with a soft smile.

“Do you … do you think that you could teach me?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling shy.

A broad smile broke out across Angus’ face. “Reckon I could, reckon I could. What’d ya say we add in a lesson after we close the _Plough_ every Saturday?”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiled.

The sharp sound of footsteps crossing the pub floor turned the three around.

“Hadrian, are you ready to head home?” the tall, black haired man asked.

Harry stared at the man. He had the same hair as him, but with brown eyes instead of his green. Surprisingly enough, he was wearing non-descript dark brown pants and a black shirt.

“Dad!” Harry replied, remembering himself.

“Ah, ye must be Mister Evans?” Angus said, extending a hand.

“That’s right. I’m Dobbin Evans,” the man replied. “And you’re Mister Angus McHenry.”

“Call me Angus. This is me wife, Jillian,” Angus introduced.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Dobbin stated. “I must thank you for giving Hadrian a job.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. In fact, it’s Hadrian that’s been doing us a favour. He’s a good hard worker,” Angus smiled.

“That’s good to hear,” Dobbin replied. “Well, Hadrian, are you ready to go?”

Harry nodded. “Just let me get my jacket.”

-oOoOo-

As soon as the pub had been lost in the dark, Dobbin placed one hand on Harry and the other on Harry’s bike and a sharp _crack_ rent the night.

They arrived out the back of the manor of Potter Haven, just off the patio where Harry had come to leave his bike when he wasn’t using it. After leaning the bike up against the wall, he turned back to find a small house elf looking up hopefully at him.

“You did great, Dobby, absolutely brilliantly!” Harry said enthusiastically. “Thanks so much. That should put to rest the questions that Angus and Jillian were starting to ask.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Auror Dawlish, if you would?” Cornelius Fudge asked, gesturing to the door behind the auror.

With a nod, the red-robed man turned, brandished his wand and cast a selection of privacy wards to seal the room from any potential eavesdroppers.

“Thank you,” the Minister of Magic said. “Now, if you’d kindly give us your report?”

Dawlish looked at each of the three in the room. The Minister of Magic, of course, was seated behind his desk, various piles of parchment scattered in front of him. The Senior Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge was seated to the side, her pudgy legs neatly crossed at the ankle, just before her toes stretched down in a futile effort to reach the floor. And, tucked away in the corner almost behind him, Lucius Malfoy leant against the wall, staring impassively back at him.

“To be honest, Minister,” Dawlish began, “there really isn’t much to report. There’s been no sighting of Potter in the six weeks since he disappeared.”

Fudge frowned, not liking that answer at all. “Please outline the steps that your team have already tried.”

“Well, firstly, we’ve been watching the Big Board,” Dawlish replied. “As you know, any underage or unusual magic is tracked on it. In the last six weeks, there’s only been seven times that it’s lit up. Stevenson and I responded to every one of them and found the culprits each time. But none of them were Potter. Just a bunch of pre-Hogwarts muggleborns doing some accidental magic.

“And Daniels and Higginson have been tailing all of Potter’s friends, but he hasn’t met with any of them,” he continued.

“What have you done to keep track of them?” Umbridge asked.

“We’ve put monitoring and tracking charms on as many as we could – Granger, Lovegood, Longbottom, Moon, Greengrass, Davis, Creevey and Abbot. We couldn’t get close enough to tag that niece of Bones’ and for some reason, every time we think we tag the Weasley twins, it doesn’t take or it fails after a couple of hours,” he replied. “We’ve also been intercepting all of their mail. And you were right, Minister, the boy has been keeping in contact with them all, but between that infernal Goblin Postal Service and what little he actually writes in his letters, we haven’t managed to get anything that’ll even tell us what end of the country he’s holed up in.”

“What about his guardians?” Fudge asked.

“We’ve been keeping tabs on both Black and McGonagall, and the werewolf Lupin as well, but only through their mail. Potter’s not telling them anything either,” Dawlish replied.

“What information have you gathered from the boy’s correspondence?” Malfoy drawled.

Dawlish rubbed the back of his head as he thought about what Daniels and Higginson had told him.

“We think he might be getting some kind of help, but whoever it is, it’s definitely not one of his friends. It also seems that he’s trying to teach himself magic but wherever he is, it must be heavily warded for the trace not to show up on the Big Board. But that’s it. The boy’s too careful in his letters to let anything slip,” Dawlish grudgingly allowed.

“If he’s within a warded area then perhaps that is an avenue to pursue. Someone must have put the wards in place for him. And if not his guardians or friends …,” Umbridge finished with a wave of her hands.

“We thought of that,” Dawlish replied. “I sent Daniels and Higginson to every warding company in Britain but they came up empty. The best that we can figure is that he either already knew of a place that was warded or he got the goblins to do it for him.”

Fudge scowled. Even using the full influence of the Office of the Minister of Magic wouldn’t get the goblins to divulge any information about their clients.

“What about Belotti and Nawocki? Have they found anything in the muggle world?” Fudge asked.

Dawlish shook his head. “Nothing yet, but they’re still looking. Once school goes back in a couple of weeks, they’ll hit up the Muggle Department of Education and try and find him that way.”

Fudge looked at each of his two companions before turning back to his auror.

“Keep working on this John. Do whatever you have to, but find Potter,” Fudge said, dismissing the man.

The three waited until both Dawlish had left and the wards had been reapplied to the door before speaking.

“It seems the boy is much cleverer than we thought,” Lucius remarked. “Particularly in regards to what my son led me to believe.”

“The boy must be brought to heel,” Umbridge stated. “Every day that he remains at large puts our world in even more danger.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, we all know that Potter isn’t likely to break the Statute of Secrecy again,” Fudge replied. “Even that first time was because of Dumbledore provoking the boy into using accidental magic.”

“Thankfully the boy is charged with more than just breaking the Statute of Secrecy,” Malfoy replied airily, waving one hand as if to dismiss that as something of no importance.

Fudge and Umbridge shared a quick, nervous look, a look that Malfoy immediately picked up on.

“Is there something that I should know?” Malfoy asked suspiciously, a hard edge to his question.

With a sigh, Cornelius, waved for Umbridge to answer for him.

“ _Hem hem_ ,” Umbridge cleared her throat nervously, “our case against the boy isn’t as … ironclad as we would like.”

“Explain!” Malfoy demanded after too long a pause.

“You see, I was there at Potter’s hearing into underage magic last year and, as hard as I tried to make things seem more severe than they were, the boy had a … firm defence for his first two breaches of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Magic.

“He claimed that a house elf, in fact, _your_ house elf, Lucius, was responsible for the magic detected at his residence last year. If that elf is ever recovered, and knowing that Potter was the one to free him from your service means that that is entirely likely, _and_ if it proves to be true, then that breach will be dismissed.”

“ _Dobby_ ,” Malfoy hissed.

“Exactly,” Umbridge continued. “And as to his second offence, that was clearly a case of accidental magic as well. He cast a magical vow at his friend Granger’s house. Originally, the magic was attributed to her, but the boy instantly owned up to it. In fact, he did so before the Ministry could even register the magic used.”

“And now we’ve basically said that Dumbledore was responsible for the fiasco at King’s Cross,” Fudge interjected.

“Indeed, Minister,” Umbridge nodded. “Convicting Dumbledore was a double edged sword. It allowed us to rein in his power and popularity, but it also meant that once Potter goes to trial, any good lawyer, which his attorney, Julius Tentridge, most definitely is, will get that charge thrown out without much trouble at all.”

“And knowing the Wizengamot the way that I do, I suspect that The-Boy-Who-Lived will manage to wiggle his way out of the breach of the Statute of Secrecy charge as well,” Malfoy near snarled.

Malfoy’s grey eyes pierced the other two in the room.

“I was assured that the two of you had this entire fiasco under control. I want that boy brought to heel, preferably in a cell,” Malfoy stated.

“We’re doing everything that we can, Lucius,” Fudge replied quickly, “aren’t we Delores?”

“Of course, Minister,” she replied. “Our own team of lawyers is blocking Tentridge at every turn. Every scrap of information that he’s asked for has been delayed and then delayed again. His request for a trial date has still been unanswered. You know, of course how busy the Wizengamot is at this time of year. As long as we continue to stall until at least September first, then we’ll have the luxury of adding additional charges to Potter’s list of misdeeds – those of truancy from an approved magical institution or by approved tutors while being underage.”

Once more, Malfoy fixed his piercing gaze on his two compatriots.

“See to it that this matter is handled appropriately. And find that boy!” he ordered before sweeping from the room.

With a sigh, Cornelius lowered his head into his hands.

“This is turning into a disaster,” he groaned. “Why ever did we begin going down this route again?”

“Simply because the boy is a threat, Minister,” Umbridge’s simpering voice replied. “The-Boy-Who-Lived, whether he knows it or not, even _with_ his blatant disregard for the laws of the Wizarding world, carries more popularity than anyone else in Britain. Even Dumbledore can’t match the political power that Potter could potentially wield. As Minister of Magic, only you deserve to have that kind of political power, Cornelius.”

“Yes, yes,” Fudge waved the statement away, “but we could have gone with our original plan to ally ourselves with Potter and his fame.”

“You know why we didn’t, Minister,” Umbridge reminded him.

At this Fudge merely nodded, his eyes flicking to the door where that reason had just walked through.

“If the boy gets off, then after the way we’ve dragged his name through the mud, our chances of being re-elected aren’t good,” Fudge worried.

“I will keep working to turn support to our administration, Minister, but as you know, the _Prophet_ has been most uncooperative since Lord Greengrass acquired controlling shares,” Umbridge assured him. “Rest assured, Minister. The boy will be found and no matter what it takes, he will be convicted for his many, many crimes.”

Fudge merely nodded, no longer sure that he believed that as much as his Undersecretary seemed to.

-oOoOo-

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...”_

Albus Dumbledore stared unseeingly at the spectral image of Sybil Trelawney as she hung motionless above the pensieve that sat on the end of his desk.

In the thirteen years since Sybil had first made her prophecy, Dumbledore must have watched the same few minutes of memory hundreds, nay, thousands of times. And every time he came to same conclusion: Harry Potter _must_ face Tom in combat. It was a foregone conclusion. Inevitable. And something that Dumbledore had been working towards for all of those years since.

Oh, he knew that many had thought that Tom had died on that fateful night nearly twelve years ago, but after the events in the last two years here at Hogwarts, he, like many others, much to his annoyance, knew that Tom was still alive.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord was little more than a spectre at the moment, but he was no less dangerous for that. Dangerous especially to Dumbledore himself, considering the errors that the elder wizard had made so many years ago. If he had only known, then he could have stopped Tom’s descent into darkness long before he left Hogwarts to strike out on his own.

And then the prophecy had been made and Dumbledore knew without a shadow of a doubt that the only way for him to correct his mistakes was to wait for the prophecy to play out. Yes, Harry Potter would face Tom and inevitably, be killed by him. And then, once that happened, nothing would stop Dumbledore from stepping in and subduing Tom and helping him see the error of his ways.

For a time before that fateful Halloween night, Dumbledore had considered an alternate plan, a plan that would allow James and Lily’s boy to survive. But that was before he’d seen the scar that Harry had been left with. That was before he’d cast his diagnostic spells over the boy and realised just how far Tom had descended into the Dark ways.

And even if he hadn’t been sure, the diary that Harry himself had retrieved from the Chamber of Secrets just a couple of months before, combined with the story that he, Miss Lovegood and Miss Moon had told confirmed all of his theories: Tom, Lord Voldemort, had created horcuxes. And not just one, but multiple.

Now it was more important than ever that Harry be sacrificed for the Greater Good. And if that also meant that Dumbledore himself was to complete the job, thus ensuring that his reputation and influence over Magical Britain be greatly enhanced, then so be it.

Of course, that was before the mess that had become of his life since June thirty. A mess that was neither foreseen nor acceptable.

Harry had been lost to him, both legally and physically. It was bad enough that Sirius Black and Minerva had conspired to wrest his position as the boy’s guardian from him, but for young Harry to have run away from the Wizarding World at the same time was unfathomable. And Harry’s guardianship wasn’t the only one that he’d now lost. Since he’d been blamed for Harry’s accidental magic, the guardianship of _all_ of the muggleborn and orphaned children at Hogwarts had been taken from him.

His reputation had also taken a drastic hit. One that would take quite some time to recover from. And worst of all, his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was under threat.

Only a week previously he’d been questioned quite extensively by the Board of Governors. It’d taken hours to convince them that he was still the most qualified to hold that most exalted position, but it’d come at a cost that was most irksome. Stephen Connington had been appointed as Observer, a position that hadn’t been held at Hogwarts for more than three hundred years.

In essence, he was going to be followed around for the next year as though _he_ was a naughty schoolboy in need of strict monitoring. Every decision that he made was going to be scrutinized and analysed to ensure that it was in the best interest of both the school and the students. As though he couldn’t be trusted to know what was needful for the Greater Good.

That also meant that time was swiftly running out for him to be able to find young Harry before the school year began and to return him to where he needed to be. Where Dumbledore could best keep an eye on him to ensure that he wasn’t learning too much that might increase his miniscule chance of defeating Tom on his own.

And Severus wasn’t helping in the slightest. Ever since he’d received that crate of basilisk parts, he’d been holed up in his dungeon creating potion after potion and refusing to do as he was told. Unbelievably, even Fawkes had refused to take him to the boy! Why, the phoenix never said, simply giving a mournful trill whenever Dumbledore ordered him to take him to the boy. And without Fawkes, Severus and Minerva and with his reputation currently in tatters, Dumbledore was left with doing the grunt work by himself.

Not that he had any idea where the boy could be found. All of his usual contacts had come up empty. The goblins, he was sure, knew, but they weren’t talking, merely grinning that know-it-all grin that they seemed to love to smile at him. And speaking of know-it-alls, after the debacle of King’s Cross, he couldn’t even get close enough to Miss Granger to scan her mind to find out what she knew about the boy’s whereabouts.

Shifting his gaze, Dumbledore eyed the ominously silent gadgets gathered on the side table. All of his tracking charms and traces on the boy had gone silent, leaving him in as much dark as any other _normal_ person.

With a sigh, Dumbledore tapped the pensieve with his wand, making the image of Sybil vanish. A wave of his wand and the pensieve glided across the room and slid once more into its proper place.

“Where are you, Harry?” he murmured as he rose to his feet, intent on striking out into the muggle world in search of his elusive student.

Mister Connington would be arriving at the castle in ten days and Dumbledore didn’t have a second to waste.


	15. Chapter 15

 

Applying the brake, Harry brought his bike to a stop just in front of an unexpected sign.

He was not actually far from home after his morning excursion back to Kelso. It was the closest big town to Potter Haven and the place that he hoped, correctly as it turned out, that he’d be able to find what he was looking for.

Being the first of September, the day that schools around the country started up and coincidentally the day that all of his friends were returning to Hogwarts, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get any work done. So, instead of trying to struggle through learning charms and arithmancy, he’d taken the day off in search of something that he’d been wanting for a couple of weeks.

The small music shop that he’d found in Kelso was cluttered with racks of books and stands of instruments. Bagpipes galore hung from the walls, along with a collection of bodhrans and pipes. Squeezing in between a couple of racks, Harry’d searched deeper in the store, idly wondering where the shopkeeper was. And then, in the very back, he found what he was looking for: a collection of more ‘usual’ instruments.

In amongst the flutes, clarinets, trombones and trumpets, he discovered two saxophones, one the same size as the one that Angus had been teaching him and one much larger. It was then that the storekeeper had materialized beside him and, twenty minutes later, he’d left with the beautiful gold alto saxophone with silver keys, a box of reeds, two stands – one for the sax and one to hold music – and a couple of beginner music books.

He’d breathed a sigh of relief at finding out that the instrument’s case came with straps that made it possible for him to wear it like a backpack.

His task done, Harry’d been steadily making his way back home until he’d come upon the small sign pointing off down the side road.

Archery Range Come and Try Day   
September 1 3pm – 6pm

Glancing at his watch, he realised that it was still over an hour until the place was to open, but with a shrug his pushed off and turned down the side road anyway. Waiting around there and then trying something completely new was bound to be better than sitting around the manor and imagining his friends speeding northwards on the Hogwarts Express.

-oOoOo-

“What about this one, Mum?” Mickey called, holding up a thick book and waving it around in the air.

“Hold it still so that I can actually see it,” Beth replied.

Instantly, the book stopped rocking backwards and forwards and she was able to read the title: _Huckleberry Finn_ by Mark Twain.

“Looks perfect,” she smiled. “Put it on the counter with the other one.”

With half an ear, she registered her now ten year old son doing as he was told. This time next year, she reflected, he’d be heading off for his first year at Hogwarts. She wasn’t sure if she was looking forward to it or dreading it. At the moment it was probably more of the former but she suspected that as the time drew closer, it’d be more of the latter.

Her hand settled on a particular tome and she plucked it off of the shelf. _Weather Magics, First edition._ With a nod, she tucked it into the crook of her arm and headed out of the shelves towards the counter.

Harry, she knew, would already be waiting for this month’s package.

-oOoOo-

“Are you sure that you have everything, Poppet?” Xenophilius Lovegood asked.

“Of course, Daddy,” Luna replied as she levitated her trunk towards the fireplace.

“What about the supply of radishes that I brought home for you yesterday?” he asked as he began rummaging under the old couch.

“All packed away beside the butterbeer corks and the jar of dirigible plums,” Luna assured him.

With some effort, Xenophilius backed away from the couch dragging a long wooden box with him.

“A present for you, Luna,” her father smiled, “for when you have a chance to explore the Forbidden Forest.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Luna said as she took the box.

Settling cross-legged on the floor, she flipped the catch and opened the lid. Immediately it unfolded and seemed to just keep going until the inside looked to be five times bigger than the outside.

Luna’s large grey eyes lit up in excitement as she beheld the brushes and paints and chalks and charcoal and the reams of paper inside.

Leaping up, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Daddy! I can’t wait until I can paint a unicorn or a fairy or a nargle or a knucker or …

-oOoOo-

“Now, you be makin’ sure that you thank that friend of yours when you see ’im again for sendin’ you those notes,” Ava Creevey instructed her son as she watched him pack the stack of parchment into his trunk.

Colin looked over his shoulder, a look of exasperation on his face.

“Ma, I’ve told you. I’ve thanked Harry already in every letter that I’ve sent him over the holidays.”

“That’s as may be, Colin, but it be the height of good manners to thank a person face to face,” Mrs Creevey reiterated.

“Here’s your camera, Colin!” his younger brother, Dennis, announced as he bounced into the room.

“Thanks, Dennis,” Colin smiled as he took his most prized possession, the new wizarding camera that Harry had given him at the end of last term and carefully packed it away between his shorts and socks where it wouldn’t get bumped around.

“I wish I was going with you,” Dennis continued.

“Next year, mate, next year,” Colin replied.

Looking at his mother, Colin finally relented. “I’m not sure if Harry’s even going to be coming to Hogwarts this year, but I promise to thank him properly when I see him next.”

“You’re a good boy, Colin,” Mrs Creevey stated, patting him on the shoulder. “You just do your best on those make up tests and we’ll be proud of you.”

“You know I will, Ma,” Colin smiled.

“You all packed yet?” his Da asked as he poked his head into the room. “If’n we don’t get a move on, you’ll be late for the train.”

Closing the lid of his trunk, Colin looked at each of his family standing around him.

“I’m all packed and ready,” he announced. “Come on Dennis, give me hand to get this to the car.”

-oOoOo-

“Lil, come here, please.”

Hearing her father’s voice, Lil set down her trunk and approached the small study cum library that was her father’s domain.

“Yes, Dad?” she asked.

“Come in, come in,” her father beckoned.

Lil took a half dozen steps before sinking into the plush red armchair across from her father. David Moon was a tall, wiry man with greying brown hair and sharp brown eyes that missed nothing, either here at home or when he was at work for the accountancy firm that he worked for in Diagon Alley.

“Are you ready for Hogwarts?” he asked.

Lil smiled. “Yep. It’ll be great to see my friends again.”

“Good, good,” he replied before reaching across to his desk and plucking up an envelope. He seemed to pause for a moment as though debating with himself before suddenly thrusting it towards his daughter.

Lil cocked her head at it. “What’s this?”

“That, my dear, is something that I want you to give to your friend Harry the next time that you see him. And I do mean see him. I don’t want to take the chance of this getting lost or intercepted if we use owl post.” He sighed almost wearily before continuing. “Your friend has done amazingly by you with that trust fund that he set up for you for being petrified by that basilisk and then sending you the notes that you needed to help you with your study.”

At that, Lil nodded in complete agreement, although still being confused as to the envelope in her hand.

“And _that,”_ her father continued, “is what I believe to be the appropriate response. For now, it’s between young Master Potter and myself and I’ve charmed it that way, so don’t even bother trying to open it to find out what it says.”

With a last look at the envelope, she nodded uncertainly before slipping it into her pocket.

-oOoOo-

“I’m ready, Gran,” Neville Longbottom announced as he entered the drawing room of Longbottom Manor.

Augusta Longbottom looked up from the Wizengamot reports that she had been perusing. Standing in the open doorway, his trunk visible on the floor behind him, stood her grandson. In the past two years she’d noticed a change beginning to come over the boy.

No longer was he the timid, self-conscious boy that had grown up in the near-empty manor. Now, he stood just that little bit taller, his clothes just that little bit straighter and for once, at least, without the tell-tale smudges of dirt and greenery marring them. He’d also begun to lose the baby fat around his face, making him appear to her old eyes as a younger version of her beloved son, Frank.

Of course, there was no doubt in her mind what had brought about those changes – the friendships that he’d made at Hogwarts. Before he’d left for first year, she’d been afraid that the boy would become an outcast and quietly go about mediocrity. Her fears had fallen away before the train had even left the station when they’d met young Harry Potter. And then, after that first letter detailing other friends that he’d begun to make, she’d known that she had nothing to worry about.

“This will be a different year for you, Neville,” she stated.

Neville, she saw, was content to wait for her to elucidate, just as he should.

“Young Mister Potter won’t be at Hogwarts, but the rest of your friends will be. Continue in your studies the way that you have been and you’ll do well. And if, by some miracle you do happen to see your friend, remember, Longbottoms support Potters. Offer him whatever help he needs, as well as the safety of Longbottom Manor if he needs a place to retreat to.”

“Yes, Gran,” Neville replied.

She noted the look of trepidation flicker on his face be quickly replaced by determination and she nodded with approval. Yes, Neville was turning into a fine young man, a man worthy of the name Longbottom.

-oOoOo-

“You understand my wishes, Draco?” Lucius Malfoy clarified, his eyes searching those of his son’s.

“Yes, Father,” Draco responded. “Keep a close eye on Potter’s friends and find out where he is and let you know.”

Lucius nodded. “Good. And Draco, do try for some cunning. Don’t simply allow your mouth to wander off and get you into trouble as it usually does.”

A scowl crossed Draco’s face only to vanish quickly at the hard look that he gave his son.

“Yes, Father.”

-oOoOo-

“Now, Astoria, I don’t want you annoying your sister while you’re at Hogwarts,” Penelope Greengrass stated firmly.

She knew her two girls extremely well and of the love-hate relationship that the two had.

“Of course I won’t annoy Daphne,” Astoria replied, before continuing after a beat, “as long as she doesn’t annoy me first.”

“I’ve already spoken to your sister,” Penelope assured the young girl with the long blonde hair that hung half-way down her back.

“Mind you, she could do with a bit of annoying,” Astoria continued despite the hard look that her mother was giving her, “she’s been moping around all holidays.”

Penelope sighed, not able to refute that claim.

“You know perfectly well that she’s been worried about her friend,” Penelope stated.

“I guess, but she could have been a bit more fun to be with,” Astoria complained.

“Well, once you’re at Hogwarts you’ll make loads of new friends and get to have as much fun as you want. Within reason, of course,” her mother smiled. “Come on, let’s head down. Your father will be wanting to go soon.”

-oOoOo-

“You’ll write as soon as you get to school, won’t you?” Emma Granger asked from just outside the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

“Straight after the feast,” Hermione assured her, “but you know that I won’t be able to get to the owlery until tomorrow morning to send it to you. I won’t be able to borrow Hedwig like I usually do.”

Emma saw the sad countenance that came over her daughter’s face just as it did every time that something about Harry came up. Well, that or worry.

“I know you’re worried about Harry and you’re right, school will be different without your friend there, but you’ve got lots of other friends. Don’t ignore them just because one is missing,” Emma said quietly.

“My best friend, Mum,” Hermione countered just as quietly.

“Just the same, Hermione.”

In a flash, Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother and squeezed tight. The two stayed like that for some time before Emma gently pulled back.

“Okay, Hermione, it’s time to go. You don’t want to be late,” she said.

“I’ll miss you, Mum. Say bye to Dad again for me,” Hermione said as she grabbed hold of her trolley.

Then, with a determined tilt of her head, Hermione pushed her way through the barrier.

Instantly, billows of steam erupted around her legs as the great scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express came into view. With a sigh, Hermione began to push her trolley along the platform. She weaved in and out amongst her fellow students and their parents alike.

“Hermione!”

Looking up, she saw Neville hanging half out of one of the windows two thirds of the way down the train, madly waving an arm at her. With a smile, she picked up her pace only to see Neville disappear. A minute later he reappeared, this time as he stepped out of the door of the train.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Neville said as he bent down to pick up one end of her trunk.

“Thank you, Neville,” Hermione replied. “Is anyone else here?”

“Yeah,” Neville huffed as he lifted the trunk. “Hannah and Susan and I have got us a compartment. Haven’t seen anyone else yet, though.”

“Hi, Hermione!” Susan and Hannah chorused as they slid open the door.

Between the four of them they managed to hoist Hermione’s trunk up onto the rack with the others. As she plonked herself on the seat beside Neville, Hermione picked up her new cat carrier to check on the occupant.

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Hannah squealed.

The look on Neville’s face clearly said that he wasn’t in agreement.

“What’s his name?” Neville finally managed.

“Crookshanks,” Hermione replied. “And he’s part kneazle.”

The door sliding open interrupted their conversation.

“Got room for two more?” Lisa Turpin asked, Lil Moon smiling over her shoulder.

“Sure, come on in,” Neville replied before jumping up to help with their trunks.

By the time that the train had finally got moving, they’d been visited by Luna and Colin as well as at least half of their study group. Conversations about their holidays and what everyone had been up to filled the compartment. Even the arrival of the trolley lady hadn’t managed to slow down the laughter and chatter.

“Has anyone heard from Harry lately?” Susan asked quietly during one lull.

“Not for over a week,” Hermione replied in amongst head shakes from the others.

“Is it true that he’s trying to teach himself magic?” Hannah asked.

“That’s what he said in the last letter that he sent me,” Neville replied.

“How’s he not getting caught for doing underage magic?” Susan asked. “Auntie was trying hard not to ask me about it when she heard but I know that she’s worried that he’ll end up in even more trouble.”

Hermione shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. I really thought that he’d get caught if he did, but it seems like he’s worked out a way around it.”

“Only Harry,” Neville smiled.

The sudden _bang_ of their compartment door slamming open startled all six, snapping their heads around.

“Looks like we’re in for our best year yet,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “What with no Scar-head to bother about any more.”

“Go away, Malfoy,” Lisa ordered.

Draco barely glanced in her direction. “So, where is the idiot hiding anyway? Or don’t you lot know? Maybe you’re not as much his friends as you’d like to think you are.”

“Is there a problem here?” a pair of identical voices asked from either side of the doorway, causing Malfoy’s head to snap backwards and forwards.

“No, Malfoy was just leaving,” Hermione stated firmly.

“Don’t worry, Mudblood, I’m sure you’ll see your Scar-head soon,” Malfoy smirked as he began backing away. “That is, once the aurors have caught him and thrown him in Azkaban. He’s sure to be allowed visitors.”

Malfoy’s appearance put a definite damper on the conversation in the compartment and it wasn’t until an hour later when the train had started slowing down as it approached Hogsmede Station that the first smile reappeared.

 “Do you think that Crabbe and Goyle did those essays for McGonagall?” Lil asked.

All six looked at each other before simultaneously stating, “nah!”

Raucous laughter erupted in the compartment and for a moment at least, thoughts of Malfoy and where Harry was were forgotten.

-oOoOo-

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry stated, the tip of his wand pressed against the old yellowing parchment laid out on the table in front of him.

Immediately, spidery lines of ink spread out on the parchment, criss-crossing and expanding until the entire thing was filled with a detailed map of the ancient Hogwarts castle.

Sucking in a breath, Harry searched the map before quickly realising that every tiny dot representing a person inside the castle could be found in the Great Hall. A line of unfamiliar names ranged in front of the staff table and, as he watched, one walked forward, paused for a minute before rushing off towards the Hufflepuff table.

“It’s the Sorting,” he murmured.

Entranced, he watched as each name moved forward before scuttling off to one of the four House tables. Then, unable to resist any longer, he allowed his eyes to search out the names that he knew the best. Finding each one, he reverently caressed the spot with his finger.

Hermione, Neville, Colin and the Weasley twins, Fred and George, at the Gryffindor table. Susan, Hannah and Lil at Hufflepuff. Luna and Lisa seated at the Ravenclaw table and Daphne, Tracey and Fiona over at the Slytherin table.

Lifting his eyes, he met the large green tennis ball-like eyes of his friend.

“You remember what to do?”

The energetic nod brought a ghost of a smile to his lips before he continued.

“Make sure you’re not seen.”

After a single, final nod, Dobby disapperated with a soft _pop_.


	16. Chapter 16

“Get a move on, Nev!” Seamus Finnegan announced, giving his dorm-mate a slight shove in the back.

For his part, Neville stumbled forward and out of the way of the door of the dormitory before freezing in place. The room that he’d spent the last two years in simply looked … wrong. Where once there were places for five boys to live, there were now only four. Harry’s bed and desk were gone leaving behind a blank stretch of stone wall.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bit more room to stretch out in,” Ron Weasley commented as he stood beside his bed, looking at the same patch of bare flooring that had Neville entranced. “What do you think we should use it for?”

Ever so slowly, Neville’s head turned to face the red head.

“That’s Harry’s area,” he stated.

“Well, yeah, it was,” Ron replied. “But he ain’t here anymore, is he?”

“That’s Harry’s area,” Neville repeated.

Ron grimaced at him before turning to the other two boys in the room.

“What do you guys reckon we should use it for? We could set up a table for games, maybe. Have an area for chess and whatever?”

Dean looked between Ron and Neville. “I dunno, Ron. Like Nev said, that’s Harry’s spot. It wouldn’t feel right to take it over.”

“It’s not like he’s coming back or anything,” Ron appealed. “He’s been expelled, remember.”

“He’ll be back,” Neville stated emphatically.

Seamus cut in before Ron could speak again. “Reckon you should drop it, mate. That’s Harry’s area. I think that we should just leave it alone.”

Seeing Ron turn away grumbling to himself, Neville cast one last glance at the empty portion of the room before trudging across to his own bed.

Like always, the house elves had brought up their trunks from the train and placed them at the end of their beds. Opening his up, Neville dug out a pair of pyjamas and quickly changed. He wasn’t in the mood for the usual first night back gob-fest that he and his dorm-mates usually participated in. Instead, he climbed into bed and closed the curtains around him.

Lying down, he slid his hands up under his head and heard an unfamiliar crackling sound coming from under him. With a frown, Neville sat up slightly and turned around. He lifted his pillow to find an envelope laying there, his name emblazoned on the front.

In his haste, he ripped the envelope open and yanked out the slightly torn piece of muggle paper inside.

_Hey Nev,_

_Welcome back to Hogwarts! Wish I was there with you, but you know how things are._

_I thought that I’d send letters to you this way now, hope you don’t mind. I don’t really trust Dumbledore not to do something to the owls when they arrive at Hogwarts so that he gets to read any letters between us. If you ever feel like writing to me, Hermione knows of a secret place that you can leave them and they’ll get to me._

_Anyway, have a great year._

_Harry._

He was already half out of his bed before he remembered that he was wearing his pyjamas, not to mention the fact that Hermione was probably already in her own dorm room and not in the common room any more.

After stuffing the letter back into its envelope, Neville stashed it between the mattress and the base of the bed. He’d write back to Harry in the morning and then go find out where this ‘secret place’ was from Hermione.

-oOoOo-

Neville was in the Great Hall early. While he sat alone eating his fill, his eyes never strayed from the door. Sooner or later, he knew, Hermione would be coming for breakfast and there was no way that he was going to miss out on seeing her.

Finally, when he only had one or two forkfuls of egg left on his plate, the familiar bushy brown hair was spotted coming in behind a group of first years. Neville was up like a shot.

“Hermione!” he called, waving an arm to gain her attention.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled as she adjusted her course towards the end of the Gryffindor table where he was seated.

“Good morning, Neville,” she greeted, taking the empty seat directly across from him.

Before he could get out his own good morning, the two of them were surrounded as bodies began sitting either side of them. What was most remarkable was that these people weren’t sporting the red of Gryffindor, but the yellow of Hufflepuff, the blue of Ravenclaw and even the green of Slytherin.

“Hermione, did you get…”

“Harry said that you know…”

“Where’s the secret place…”

“I found a letter last night …”

Suddenly, the babble of whispered voices broke off as everyone looked around at each other, before sound was restored as they all burst out laughing. As Neville joined in the laughter, he took note of those who had gathered around: Colin, Luna, Lil, Daphne, Tracey, Fiona, Susan and Hannah.

“Harry said that he’d sent some letters,” Hermione said. “I’m gathering that you all received one?”

“I found it under my pillow last night when I went to bed,” Lil stated, eliciting nods all around.

“What I don’t understand is how Harry got them to us?” Hannah asked. “Is he hiding somewhere in the castle?”

“I seriously doubt that,” Tracey replied.

“He’d be a fool to be anywhere in Scotland at the moment, let alone near Hogwarts,” Susan agreed.

“Although, if he was, the idea of Harry in my bed isn’t an unwelcome one,” Luna stated offhandedly.

Neville stared at the little blonde. He could never predict just what outlandish thing she would say next. And, after two months of being without hearing it, he suddenly realised that he missed her odd-ball style. It definitely beat the seriousness that his Gran expected at all times at home.

“Luna, you know boys can’t get into girl’s dormitories,” Hermione sighed.

“I know,” Luna replied dreamily.

Shaking her head, Hermione looked around at the gathered crowd. “What exactly did Harry write to all of you?”

“He just wished me a good school year and said that you knew of somewhere where we could leave letters that he’d be sure to get,” Neville said, pulling out the letter that he’d already written from his pocket.

“Sounds like he wrote the same thing to all of us,” Daphne sated. “He also said that he didn’t trust Dumbledore not to mess with the owls. Not that I blame him. I can easily see the Headmaster doing something like that.”

Nods all around agreed with that statement.

“So where’s this ‘secret place’?” Fiona asked.

Looking around, Hermione made sure that they weren’t being overheard before answering. “There’s a small broom closet hidden behind a suit of armour at the base of Gryffindor Tower that Harry found in first year. I’m sure that that’s the place that he means. He’s never told anyone about it.”

“Then how do you know about it?” Tracey asked.

“I followed him once,” Hermione replied sheepishly. “He used to hide in there and study by himself before I convinced him to join us up in the library. I’ll show you all later, but we’re going to need to be careful that no one else finds out about it.”

“That still doesn’t explain how he got those letters to us,” Colin spoke up.

“No. It doesn’t. And while Harry does have some … unique objects that would help him, I don’t think they would have helped him in the slightest,” Hermione replied.

Neville nodded, aware of the objects – the map and the cloak – that Hermione was alluding to.  His eyes widened slightly as he realised that Hermione was debating whether or not to share something. The way she was chewing her bottom lip was a dead giveaway.

“What is it, Hermione?” he asked.

After another surreptitious look around them, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a large envelope. Opening the envelope, she pulled out a second, smaller envelope and what looked to be a photo and laid them face down on the table.

“Harry also sent me these,” she said quietly, tapping the items. “Apparently he’s been having a bit of … trouble with a spell and was hoping for a second opinion.”

“From us?” Neville blurted.

“Well, no, actually,” Hermione admitted. “He was hoping that we’d pass them on to Professor McGonagall.”

A small hand reached across the table and flipped the photo up the right way. Neville was amazed that Colin’d lasted as long as he had. Small gasps of surprise erupted around the table.

This was the first time that anyone had seen Harry since school ended last year, even if it was only in a photo. He was in some sort of room, a basement, Neville guessed, judging by the bare grey stone wall behind him.

He was wearing a pair of black shorts and a dark green T-shirt. His unruly black hair was slightly longer than normal and flopped forward into his eyes. He had a look of complete concentration behind his glasses as he stared at the small stone lying on the wooden table in front of him.

Neville watched the wizarding photo as the scene played out in front of him.

Harry glanced once at the camera before bringing his wand to bear on the small stone. His mouth moved as he said an incantation that they couldn’t hear, his wand moving in an intricate pattern at the same time. A jet of soft gold light erupted from the wand before hitting the stone.

The stone immediately glowed before slowing morphing into a strange parody of a dragon. Four tiny feet erupted from the bottom of the stone even as one end elongated into a spiked tail. A pair of wings bloomed into existence on either side of the rock and a long thin neck and head materialized into being.

That, though, was the extent of the change. The body of the ‘dragon’ was still the misshapen rock and even the parts that had changed looked to be made of stone instead of the dragon hide that it was supposed to be. Even the dragon’s colour had remained the same as the dull brown of the original rock.

After a huff of annoyance from Harry, the small scene began replaying itself.

“Is he trying to transfigure that rock into a dragon?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, the _draconifors_ spell,” Hermione replied. “It’s one that we’re supposed to learn this year, but not until probably after Easter. Apparently, Harry’s been trying it out. Sometimes he can get it to work out, but most times it ends up like that.”

“I take it he wants us to show the photo to Professor McGonagall?” Daphne asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yes. And he’s explained his problem in the letter that he wrote for her.”

A great flapping of wings preceded three owls dropping onto the table amongst them. As Hermione, Daphne and Susan took their copies of _The Daily Prophet_ , another two owls landed, offering letters to Hannah and to Neville. Once they’d been given a rasher of bacon each, the five owls flew back up and out of the Great Hall.

“I wonder if Harry’s seen this yet.” Susan commented as she stared at the front page of her paper.

“What is it?” Fiona asked.

In answer, copies of _The Daily Prophet_ were laid out so that everyone could read the lead article.

_Boy-Who-Was-Charged Charged Again by Marcus Waynesbury_

_Yesterday afternoon, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, was charged with Truancy, adding one more charge to the ever growing list of charges laid against him by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_When questioned about the new charge, Senior Undersecretary Delores Umbridge stated, “As every citizen of magical Britain knows, it is a requirement that all children between the ages of eleven and sixteen learn how to control their magical abilities in a safe and controlled environment._

_“To that end, it is a requirement that all children be registered as receiving magical tuition from either Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or by an appropriate, registered tutor._

_“Harry Potter is not registered with the Department of Magical Education at all and therefore, it can only be assumed that he is attempting magic without the proper supervision. For the safety and secrecy of our entire way of life, it is therefore necessary to charge him with Truancy.”_

_As readers will remember, after the incident at King’s Cross Station on June thirty in which Harry Potter performed accidental magic due to the interference of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, he was subsequently expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

“If this keeps up, he’ll never come out of hiding,” Hermione sighed, interrupting Neville’s reading.

“And that would be a shame and a loss to the wizarding world as a whole,” Professor Flitwick commented.

Neville’s eyes rounded as he saw the diminutive charms professor standing just behind Luna. His eyes darted to the photo of Harry and as nonchalantly as he could, he reached out and flipped it over.

“Your timetable for your make-up exams, Miss Lovegood,” Professor Flitwick stated, handing her a piece of parchment. “I trust that you spent your holidays catching up on what you missed while you were petrified?”

“Yes, Professor,” Luna beamed. “I had a lot of help.”

Professor Flitwick’s eyes sparkled as he looked around the inter-House group. “Yes, yes, I dare say that you did. Very good. See you all in class.”

Before they could begin discussing the implications of the article in the _Prophet_ , Professors Sprout and McGonagall approached the group handing out timetables to each in their Houses, including the exam timetables for Lil and Colin.

“Here,” was the extent of Professor Snape’s interaction with the group as he sneered at his three Slytherins lowering themselves to associate with _rabble_ , while simultaneously throwing timetables at Daphne, Tracey and Fiona.

“What’ll happen to Harry because of this?” Hannah asked, slapping the paper.

Susan shook her head. “I’m not sure. A fine at least, I should think. I’ll write Auntie and ask her about it later.”

“He’ll probably need to do some make-up exams once he’s finally cleared and allowed to come back to Hogwarts, won’t he?” Lil asked.

“I’d guess so,” Hermione shrugged.

“Then perhaps you should take notes for Harry’s classes and give them to him like he did for me, Colin and Lil,” Luna suggested. “I’d do it myself but I think giving him second year notes instead of third year notes would be rather redundant.”

Neville looked at the faces around him and noted the thoughtful looks.

“I’ll do Herbology,” he declared, ensuring that he had the easiest subject of all, at least in his opinion, to take notes for.

“Dibs on Potions,” Fiona called.

“I’ll take transfiguration,” Hermione said, tucking her timetable away without allowing anyone to see what her schedule looked like this year.

“Charms,” said Susan.

“Bother, I was going to do that one,” Hannah frowned. “Oh, well, I’ll do Astronomy instead.”

“I’ll do Defence,” Tracey volunteered. “Perhaps if I know I’ve got to take notes for Harry as well, it’ll help _me_ do better.”

“You’re not leaving me with History!” Daphne stated. “What electives was he taking?”

“Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy,” Hermione replied.

“In that case, I’ll do Arithmancy,” Daphne replied.

“I’m doing Care, so I guess I can take that one too,” Hannah volunteered.

“If no one else is wanting it, I’ll pick up Ancient Runes as well,” said Fiona.

After nearly a minute of silence when those around the table were simply eyeballing each other, Hermione sighed, “we could always rotate History between us. That way we’ll only have to pay extra attention for one lesson every couple of weeks.”

Nods all around settled that question.

“What about assignments?” Tracey asked. “Do we give them to Harry to do as well?”

“Might as well,” Fiona replied. “Whether or not he actually does them or not will be up to him but at least that way we can say that we’ve done all that we can for him.”

“You know, this is just like in the muggle world,” Hermione mused, then, after noticing the strange looks that she was being given, continued. “Some muggles learn by correspondence. Schools or colleges and universities sent out material for students to learn in the post and the student has to learn it on their own before doing the assignment, posting it back and getting their mark sent to them. Only this is magic by correspondence.”

Neville stared. Muggles had some of the weirdest ideas.

“Should we go give the letter and photo to Professor McGonagall?” Colin asked, breaking the silence.

“Neville and I’ll give it to her after class later when there’s no one around,” Hermione replied. “I’ll also write a letter to Harry telling him what we’re doing and drop it off when I show you the cupboard. Perhaps after dinner?”

“I think _during_ dinner would be better,” Daphne countered. “That ways there’s less people around to see where we’re going.”

“Good idea,” Hermione replied. “Let’s meet in the Transfiguration Courtyard at seven tonight.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Miss Granger. Mister Longbottom. What can I do for you,” Minerva McGonagall asked as she noticed two of her cubs loitering near the door to her office.

“Do you have a moment, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“Certainly,” she replied, indicating the two stiff backed wooden chairs in front of her desk.

She watched, intrigued as the two third years entered the room before pausing and looking between each other and the door.

“Is something the matter?” she asked pointedly.

“Um, Professor, would it be alright if we closed the door?” Hermione asked.

“And locked it?” Neville added in a blurt.

With a single nod and a wave of her wand, Minerva caused the door to close behind the pair and to seal itself within its frame. Laying down her quill, she eyed the two who nervously took their seats in front of her. Whatever the problem was that had caused the pair of them to turn up in her office had them extremely unsure of themselves. And this was only the first day back. Lessons had only finished a scant half an hour before.

“Now, would you like to tell me what the problem is?” she asked, moderating her tone so as to not come across as overly harsh.

Hermione dropped her head to her lap momentarily where she held her burnt orange book bag – a present from Mister Potter, if she recalled correctly – tight against her. Her eyes sought out Mister Longbottom’s who gave a slight tilt of his head in encouragement.

“Professor, you’re Harry’s guardian,” Hermione began tentatively.

Minerva nodded slowly. “I share that honour with Mister Black.”

“If I may,” Hermione continued, “what’s your position on what has happened to Harry?”

Minerva sat back in her chair, studying the two before her. They were, she knew, Harry’s two closest friends. From what little she’d been able to divine from the scant few letters that Harry had written to her, she knew that the three friends had kept in contact with each other. How much these two knew of Harry’s whereabouts though, was a mystery.

“I believe it safe to say that I believe that the charges that have been laid against Harry are not necessarily warranted,” Minerva replied slowly, careful to walk the line between the truth and what could get her into trouble with the Ministry if they ever heard her true feelings.

Both children before her smiled briefly before looking at each other.

“Would I be right in assuming that you’d help Harry if you could?” Hermione asked.

“I would,” she allowed.

“In that case, Professor, I have something for you,” Hermione stated.

Minerva watched as she opened her bag before rummaging inside. Two objects were pulled out before one of them was passed across to her.

An eyebrow rose as she took the obviously muggle-made envelope and noticed her own name written in Harry’s distinctive chicken scratch on the front.

“May I ask how you got this?” she said, her eyes still glued to the envelope in her hands.

“We, ah, we received a letter from Harry last night,” Neville replied.

Minerva’s eyes shot up, piercing the two in front of her. As far as she was aware, no owls entered Gryffindor Tower during the night. The monitoring charms that she’d placed on the Tower’s windows years ago after a spate of reckless broom riders using the windows as a quick way in and out of the Tower would have notified her if an owl had visited one of her cubs.

“And how did Mister Potter deliver this letter?” she asked suspiciously.

“We don’t know, Professor,” Hermione replied in complement to Neville’s shrug.

Leaving the matter aside for the moment, Minerva slit open the envelope, pulled out the piece of muggle paper inside and began to read.

_Professor,_

_I’m sorry to bother you like this but I’ve been having a bit of trouble in my studies and I didn’t know who else to ask. You see, I’ve been working ahead in my Transfiguration book and have had some mixed results. Sometimes what I’m trying to do works perfectly, other times there’s only a partial transfiguration and on the odd occasion, nothing happens at all._

_I’m fairly sure that I’ve got my wand movements and incantations down right, so it must be something else. I’d really appreciate your advice. To help you see what I’m trying to explain, I’ve taken a wizarding photo of me using the_ draconifors _spell. The results that you can see are fairly typical._

_If you don’t want to help me due to the legal stuff that I’m going through and that it might get you into trouble as well, then I completely understand. Simply destroy this letter and the photo so that no one will know that I’ve written to you._

_Regards,_

_Harry Potter._

“He mentioned a photo?” Minerva asked after reading the letter through twice.

Hermione reached forward and almost reverently placed the photograph on her desk before her.

Minerva couldn’t help but gasp as she gazed at it. Harry looked well. She could see the concentration on his face as he attempted the spell. Automatically, her mind began analysing the image, watching his form, the jet of magic he released and the transfiguration that the stone undertook. On first glance, everything that he was doing looked correct, giving her a hint of where his problem lay.

“May I assume that you have some way of communicating with Harry?” Minerva asked, her eyes still on the boy’s image before her.

“Yes ma’am,” Neville replied.

“Does it utilise owl post?” she asked.

“No, Harry warned us against that,” Hermione answered before her mouth snapped closed.

Minerva nodded, content that whatever secret way the children had to communicate wouldn’t be a way that either the Headmaster or the Ministry could interfere with.

“In that case, leave this with me for a day or two and I will have a response for you to pass along then,” she stated. “Thank you for this.”

With a wave of her wand, Minerva unlocked the door, subtly dismissing the two students.

With a hand on the door handle, Hermione turned back.

“Professor?” she asked and, at Minerva’s nod, continued, “I was wondering if I could have the photo after you’re finished with it?”

Minerva carefully schooled the smile that threatened to appear to stay hidden until _after_ these two were gone.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

Minerva watched the two leave before waving her wand once more to close and seal the door behind them. Only then did she allow the smile to appear. It was obvious that the girl cared a great deal for the boy. Idly, she wondered about increasing her bet in the Teacher’s Pool.

With a shake of her head, she dismissed the thought and turned to the photograph before her.

-oOoOo-

Seeing her colleague rising to leave the staff table, Minerva quickly drained her goblet and rose to follow him.

Quick steps brought her to the small staff door at the rear of the Hall. Unfortunately, she was just a fraction too slow: the far door was already closing. Minerva followed along, allowing her senses to sweep the area around her. That was one definite advantage to being a cat animagus: her sense of hearing and smell were greatly enhanced, even when she was in human form.

“Remus!” she called, sure that the two of them were alone in the long corridor leading to the staff quarters.

At her call, the shabbily dressed man paused and turned with a small smile on his face.

“Minerva,” he said once she had caught up to him. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had a couple of minutes? There’s something that I’d like to show you,” she replied. “In private.”

His eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing into his sandy brown hair at her last comment.

“Of course,” he replied. “My rooms are closest if that suits.”

“That’d be fine,” Minerva assured him, falling into line beside him as they continued their trek.

After unlocking the door to his private quarters, Remus stepped aside to allow her to precede him.

The room was sparsely furnished, she saw. A simple wooden table sat to one side, a pair of chairs at either end. In front of the fireplace, two old, faded armchairs were placed, a small table set between them. Twin doors to her right marked where the bedroom and bathroom could be found.

“Would you like a drink?” Remus asked as he moved to the final piece of furniture in the room: a side board with a pair of cupboards set underneath it.

“Gillywater, if you have it,” Minerva replied.

As she took a seat in one of the armchairs, her ears registered the sound of a stopper being pulled, followed by the sound of liquid being poured into two glasses.

“I trust nothing is the matter?” Remus asked as he rounded the armchairs and handed his colleague her drink.

“Not as such,” she replied. “It’s about Harry.”

“Harry!” Remus replied, pausing half-way into his seat.

“Sit, sit,” Minerva smiled. “It’s nothing bad. I simply received something today that I thought that you might like to see.”

At his raised eyebrows, Minerva pulled an envelope and photo from an inner pocket of her cloak and handed them to him.

Placing his glass on the table between them, he took the offered objects. A sharp gasp escaped him, not unlike her own not two hours before, when he turned the photo face up.

Minerva watched as his eyes drank in the sight of the boy. Remus remained frozen in place, simply staring for long enough for the wizarding photo to repeat three times over before she touched his forearm, bringing him back to reality. With a small shake of his head as though to clear the cobwebs, Remus placed the photo aside and opened the envelope.

“When did you get this?” Remus asked finally, tearing his gaze up from the letter.

“Young Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom brought it to me after classes today,” she replied. “Apparently they received it from Harry last night. Although how they did so is a mystery to me.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked.

“No owl brought that to Gryffindor Tower,” she stated matter-of-factly. “And according to The Fat Lady, no student went out after curfew last night either.”

Remus tapped the letter against his chin, obviously deep in thought.

“You don’t think that Harry …” he began.

“That he’s inside the castle?” Minerva finished. “I had wondered about that myself. But I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Oh, believe me, it’s possible and especially for the son of James Potter,” Remus grinned. “But no, I don’t think Harry’d be stupid enough to come to Hogwarts.”

Minerva nodded sharply with that sentiment. It was nice to have her thoughts confirmed.

“What are you going to do about it?” Remus asked.

“I’m going to answer it, of course,” she replied. “I’m his guardian and his teacher. How could I do otherwise?”

Remus picked the photo back up and watched as Harry once again tried to transfigure the stone into a dragon.

“The wand movement’s right and obviously the incantation as well,” Remus murmured.

“Oh, it’s an easy question to answer,” Minerva replied. “And I’ve been assured that Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom have a safe way of communicating with Harry that doesn’t involve owls.”

“Do they?” a surprised Remus replied. “That’ll make things easier. I wonder what it is?”

“I think that for once, it’d be best if we don’t find out,” Minerva observed. “The less people who know, the less chance that there is of the wrong people finding out about it. I only brought this to you because I knew that you would want the chance to see Harry, even if it is simply in a photo, before I give it back to Miss Granger.”

“What about Sirius?” Remus asked slowly.

With a resigned sigh, Minerva nodded her head.

Instantly, Remus pushed himself out of his chair, lit the fire in the fireplace and threw a handful of powder into the flames, turning them green.

“Grimmald Place!” Remus called.

Almost instantly, the shaggy black-head of Sirius Black appeared in their flames.

“Moony, old boy! How was your first day teaching?” Sirius asked exuberantly. Then, “oh, hello Minerva, didn’t see you there at first.”

“Sirius,” she greeted.

“We’ve got something here that you might like to see, Padfoot,” Remus told him before holding up the photo of Harry in front of the flames.

Sirius’ eyes widened. “How’d you get that?”

“Harry sent it to me for help with a transfiguration question,” Minerva replied.

“Well, at least he’s asking for help for something,” Sirius stated, his eyes still on the wizarding picture.

“How goes the battle for Harry on your end?” Minerva asked.

“They’re in a bit of a holding pattern at the moment,” Sirius sighed. “I talked to Julius again today. He’s ready to plead Harry’s case in front of the Wizengamot, but they’re still giving him the run around in terms of finding a date that would be suitable for a trial.”

“What sort of chance does he think there is of winning?” Remus asked.

“With a fair minded jury, Julius says it’s in the bag. With the corrupt Wizengamot that we’ve got? Probably about a seventy-five percent chance of winning, especially after the guilty verdict that they gave Dumbledore.”

“Do you know if they’ll expect Harry to be at the trial?” Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head. “Julius hasn’t said, but knowing the Wizengamot the way I do, I’d assume so.”

“And now there’s this truancy charge on top of it all,” Minerva scowled. “You know, I tried to get him registered with the Department of Magical Education. I was even prepared to put myself down as his tutor. But without an address for the student, they wouldn’t file it.”

“I know,” Sirius replied. “I tried the same thing myself this morning.”

“If Harry continues his education _and_ if we can convince the Department to give him some tests to prove that he’s still been continuing his education after the other charges have been cleared up, he might be able to get away with simply a fine. At least that’s what Julius thinks,” Sirius continued. “He’s going to look into it a bit more in the coming weeks.”

“Well, at least we know that he’s alright,” Remus stated, turning the photo around so that he could look at it again.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a letter to write to a student,” Minerva said as she rose from her seat. “Remus, if you please, I’ll need those to answer Harry properly.”

With obvious reluctance, Remus handed over both the letter and photo.

“Thanks for letting me see it, Minerva,” Sirius said.

She nodded before turning to let herself out.

“So, how was the first day of teaching?” she heard Sirius ask as she closed the door behind her.

-oOoOo-

“Now then, our next item on the agenda,” Albus Dumbledore stated. “The examinations for those who were petrified by the basilisk at the end of last year.”

“I have all of their results here,” Minerva stated from the opposite end of the table where she sat.

“Good, good. I don’t expect that there would have been any problems. They’ll all re-join their classmates for lessons tomorrow,” Dumbledore stated airily.

“Not exactly, Albus,” Minerva countered, her lips beginning to thin with annoyance.

“I’m sorry?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes blinking at the unexpected interruption.

“I’m afraid that not all of the students did well enough to pass into the next class,” Minerva replied.

As Dumbledore sat back, he gave a wave of one hand, indicating that the floor was now hers.

“Mister O’Hara is cleared to enter seventh year. All his scores were Exceeds Expectations or higher,” she began. “Miss Lovegood and Mister Creevey have obviously studied hard over the holidays as their results show and are ready to enter second year. Miss Moon, who I’m sure you will recall was petrified for close to six months, has also passed all of her examinations to enter third year.”

“What about Crabbe and Goyle?” Severus asked, his eyes narrowed at her.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Minerva replied. “I know that you gave them passing marks in Potions, but all of their other subject area results were, quite simply, abysmal. They’ll need to repeat second year. There’s simply no way that they could keep up with their course load otherwise.”

Around her, her colleagues nodded, cutting off the protest that she could see was on the tip of the potion master’s tongue.

“I see,” he finally said. “I’ll be sure to write to the boys’ fathers to tell them the … news.”

“Well, apart from Mister Crabbe and Mister Goyle, who it seems will have some adjusting to do, it appears that everyone is back where they belong,” Dumbledore smiled.

“Not quite everyone,” Filius muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You can’t deny it,” Minerva stated at Dumbledore’s momentary scowl at the diminutive charms master. “We are short one student. And once this mess has been sorted out, I just hope that he’ll return to us to finish his education.”

“Now Minerva,” Dumbledore corrected in his grandfatherly way, “you know that that can’t happen. Harry Potter has been expelled.”

“Thanks to you,” Pomona Sprout retorted, again, not quite quiet enough not to be heard.

Minerva cocked an eyebrow at the Headmaster. She was certain that he could see the underlying anger that was starting to appear in almost all those seated at the table. If it hadn’t been known before, Dumbledore’s trial had ensured that everyone knew _exactly_ where the blame for Harry’s magical outburst among the muggles could be laid. Well, everyone that is, except for the Minister for Magic.

“I assume that once the boy’s cleared of those ridiculous charges that that expulsion order will be rescinded?” Bathsheda Babbling asked. “I was quite looking forward to having him in my Ancient Runes class this year.”

“If that eventuality comes to pass, I daresay that that will be a matter for the Board of Governors,” Dumbledore said.

Minerva’s scowl deepened, recognising Dumbledore’s ploy of trying to, once again, ‘pass the buck’.

“I think that concludes tonight’s meeting,” the Headmaster stated quickly. “I shall see you all at breakfast in the morning.”

And before anyone could respond, he’d risen and shot out of the door.

“Thank you for coming everyone,” Minerva said with a sigh. “If you have any problems, especially with the new first years settling in, please let me know.”


	18. Chapter 18

Harry Potter sat on the grass inside the great magical dome in the valley of Potter Haven. Between his splayed legs, a pair of puffskeins gently rolled backwards and forwards. First, they’d roll one way before bumping into a leg, giving a soft shiver and then rolling back, only to run into Harry’s other leg. He smiled at their antics even as he caressed the soft golden down of the puffskein in his hands.

They were an odd little creature with no arms or legs who seemed to enjoy rolling around to get wherever they wanted to go. As he petted the ball of fluff, it hummed contentedly. Mind you, they seemed to hum anytime that Harry was near. Suddenly, he squirmed slightly as its amazingly long, thin tongue shot out and licked his neck. The soft, gentle touch was incredible ticklish.

Lifting his eyes from the antics of the puffskeins, Harry looked around the dome. The area that he and Dobby had filled with magical creatures always filled him with awe. Until he’d started reading his Care of Magical Creatures books, he’d had no idea that there were so many creatures hidden from the muggle world.

A pair of diricawls waddled past, their deep honks almost as bizarre as their rotund bodies and tiny, useless wings. Harry still didn’t know where Dobby had found the flightless birds, nor how he’d managed to capture birds that had the ability to disappear and reappear elsewhere at will, but he’d done it. At least the magical properties of the dome kept them contained.

His attention was distracted by a flock of tiny moths, their wings glowing orange as they flittered past. The flitterbys high pitched laughing hum struck a nice counterpoint to that of the puffskeins.

“Master Harry Sir has got mail,” Dobby stated as he popped into being beside him.

In shying away, Harry nearly managed to squash one of the puffskeins under a leg.

“Dobby! Don’t do that! You know popping in like that always startles me,” Harry admonished.

“Dobby is sorry, Master Harry Sir,” the house elf apologised, his huge bat-like ears drooping dangerously low. “Dobby will go and iron his hands.”

“Dobby, no!” Harry cried. “No punishing yourself. It was just an accident. Just … just try to let me know before you pop in like that.”

“Yes, Master Harry Sir,” the down-cast elf replied.

“Now, did you say something about mail?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir. Dobby did as Master asked. Dobby watched the Hoggy-warty map until he sees Master Harry Sir’s friends go into the little square and when they was all gone, Dobby pops to Hoggy-warty and collects what Master Harry Sir’s friends left behind,” he explained.

A massive smile erupted on Harry’s face. “That’s great, Dobby! Thanks. Where’s the mail?”

“Dobby put it in Master Harry Sir’s mail box,” Dobby replied proudly.

“Oh, okay, um, do you think that you could bring it here, please?” Harry asked.

With a nod of his great head, Dobby raised one hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, a small bundle of envelopes appeared on the grass between the two.

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry smiled as he reached out to pick up the bundle, leaving the puffskein in its place.

Rifling through the envelopes, he came across one that didn’t fit. _From the Office of Tentridge, Oldfield and Pew._ Obviously this one had already been in the Goblin Postal Box waiting for him. Dropping the other three letters, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the parchment within.

Harry sped read through the letter, noting nothing of drastic importance before going back to read the letter from Julius Tentridge, the lawyer that Sirius had arranged for him, much more carefully. It seemed that, apart from this latest charge that the Ministry had levelled against him, Mister Tentridge was prepared to plead his case in the Wizengamot. In regards to the truancy charge, Mister Tentridge was asking for confirmation of what Sirius had told him about Harry continuing his education independently.

Lowering his hand, Harry’s eyes unfocussed as he thought out the best response. A copy of his timetable seemed to be in order, along with a list of the most common texts that he was using. He considered whether or not it’d be wise to add in that he was in communication with Professor McGonagall for advice if he needed it. At the worst, Mister Tentridge could always ignore that bit.

Placing the letter to the side, he picked up the letter on top of the pile that was left. A lop-sided grin erupted on his face as he recognised the handwriting on the front.

_Dear Harry,_ he read after pulling out and opening the parchment.

_It was so wonderful to hear from you and such a surprise to find a letter waiting for me under my pillow. But how did you do that? I know that you’re not in the castle. There’s no way that you’d be stupid enough to come here. Not that you could get into the girl’s dormitory anyway. And it couldn’t have been an owl – I just can’t see an owl picking up a pillow, leaving a letter and then putting the pillow back. So, how’d you do it?_

Harry grinned. Hermione may be known as the ‘smartest witch of her generation’ and more than capable of working out the mystery, but he didn’t think she’d be able to puzzle this one out. Especially when she didn’t know about Dobby.

_As you predicted, I was bombarded by questions the moment that I entered the Great Hall this morning. Everyone that you’d left a letter with was demanding to know where your ‘secret place’ was. I showed them the cupboard while dinner was on this evening so that there’d be less chance of it being discovered. Everyone’s promised to be really careful about keeping the secret._

_I don’t know how you’ll actually manage to collect anything that we leave in the cupboard, so I guess that that’ll be another mystery that I’ll have to try to solve._

Harry felt his grin grow even wider as he read that last part.

_As you asked, Neville and I went to Professor McGonagall after dinner and sounded her out. You’re right, she’s more than willing to help you and to keep it a secret. And not once did she ask how we were going to get letters to you, other than to check that we were being careful not to use owls. She must be eager to help because she even managed to write a reply to you before I could!_

_However it is that you can get these letters, I really hope that you can manage it every day. Because you’re simply going to have to! We all had a talk this morning and we’ve decided to help you with your schoolwork._

Harry’s eyebrow rose at that.

_We’ve decided to take notes in every class for you and we’ll leave them in the cupboard for you, along with the assignments, every evening. Neville will cover Herbology; Fiona Potions and Ancient Runes; Susan Charms; Tracey DADA; Hannah will cover Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures; Daphne Arithmancy; I will do Transfiguration and we’re all going to share History of Magic. I expect that you’ll do your assignments, Harry. Professor McGonagall, I’m sure, would be happy to mark them for you and we’ll sound out a couple of the other teachers over the next few days._

Harry’s eyes bulged. It seemed that his work-load had just doubled. Although, to be fair, he was already doing the work anyway, just not in such a formal way.

_It was so wonderful to see you again, even if it was only in a photo. Professor McGonagall even let me keep it, although I think that she wanted it for herself. Maybe you could take a few more photos? I know we’d all like to see them, even Professor McGonagall. And I do have a birthday coming up (hint, hint)._

_The school doesn’t seem the same without you here. Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater are the new Head Boy and Girl and Mister Lupin is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher._

_I miss you, Harry; we all miss you, Harry._

_Take care and make sure that you write again soon (and add another photo!)._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

Harry stared at the letter in his hand. They wanted photos of him? He shook his head. Well, he supposed that he could send one or two. Then his eyes wandered half-way back up the letter again.

“Dobby, I’m going to need you do to some shopping for me,” Harry said as he looked across to find his friend scratching one of the nifflers behind its furry black ears.

“Of course, Master Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby replied, standing up straight. “What can Dobby be getting for you?”

“My trust fund should have been refilled yesterday so I think it’s time to stock the library properly,” Harry replied. He knew that he could have done this earlier, but for some reason, he was reluctant to use the money that he’d made from selling the basilisk parts. “I want you to go to _Flourish and Blotts_ in Diagon Alley and to _Tomes and Scrolls_ in Hogsmeade and the magical bookshops in Tara and Colwyn Bay and buy whatever books they have on all of the subjects that I’m studying.”

_That_ , he thought _, should make up for the lack of having the Hogwart’s library to help with assignments._

“Yes, Master Harry Sir. Dobby shall go after Master has had lunch.”

After laying Hermione’s letter on top of Mister Tentridge’s, Harry retrieved the next letter. Surprisingly, this one was thicker even than Hermione’s.

_Mister Potter,_

_Before I begin answering your question, I’d like to thank you for your trust in me. As you know, I have the honour, along with your godfather, of being your guardian. It pains me that after taking up this duty that I’ve been able to do so little for you. Please know that you can always trust me and that I will always answer any questions that you have to my utmost ability._

_The photo that you provided as a reference for your question was a stroke of inspiration. And it served dual purposes, whether you intended them or not._

_Firstly and most importantly, it allowed me to see that you are indeed as well as you have claimed in the very few letters that you have written to me. A few more of these types of photographs and letters would not go astray to assure those of us who care about you that you are, indeed, healthy and looking after yourself._

_I must admit that I shared the photograph with both your godfather and Remus Lupin, both of whom were equally glad to see even a brief glimpse of you. I have since passed on the photograph to Miss Granger, where I believe that it will be kept secret and safe._

Harry paused, looking up and around the domed area without seeing anything. That was two letters in as many minutes saying how glad people were to see a photo of him to help them know that he was alright. With a sigh, he decided to get Dobby to take a few more to send out, especially to Professor McGonagall, Sirius and Remus to keep.

_The other purpose of that photograph, indeed the one that you originally intended, was that it allowed me to see the nature of them problem that you were concerned about. After reviewing it thoroughly, I believe that I have determined where the problem lies. Would I be correct in assuming that you are having problems in other spell-casting areas as well? Perhaps especially in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts?_

“Now, how did you know that?” Harry mused.

_Allow me explain why I believe that that may be the case. From what I can see in the photograph of you casting the_ draconifers _spell, your wand movements, as they usually are, appear to be perfect. And while I cannot hear the incantation that you are using due to the limitations of wizarding photographs, the fact that I can see a golden stream of magic tells me that your incantation is correct._

_With these two parts of the spell being correct, there can be only one area where you are most likely having difficulty._

_Unless you’ve been sleeping in my class the last two years, I know that you are aware that there are four parts to any spell: wand movements, incantation, magical power and intent. Combined, these four parts help your magic to focus and create the effect that you are wishing for._

_During your early years of magical learning, we teachers emphasise the importance of all four parts of a spell. This is to enable you to learn how to use your magic in the most effective way. However, as you progress to the upper years, you will find that our teaching methods shift slightly to what is actually a more ‘correct’ way of spell-casting._

_Once you reach your NEWT years, you will find that in all wand-based subjects, you will be expected to learn to cast your spells silently. And, in your final year of schooling, you will be taught how to minimize your wand movements as well to become much more efficient._

Harry blinked hard at what he’d just read and shifted his eyes up to read that paragraph again, slower this time.

_As I’m sure that you’ve just realised, by the time that your finish your schooling, you would have been taught that the four parts to a spell are not equal. Yes, you still need all four parts, but not all to the same degree. Of course, that doesn’t take into account wandless magic, but that is a discussion for a different day._

_Now, let me explain what I mean._

_While you are still learning to control your magic, the main purpose of learning wand movements and performing them correctly is to allow your body time to gather and focus your magical power. Thus, once you have control over your magical power, wand movements can be truncated to some degree._

_But wand movements and incantations also work hand in hand with your magical intent. Together, they help to focus your magic on what it is that you want to do and to make it happen. It is this intent that holds the most sway over all magic cast. It even combines with your magical power to produce the correct outcome._

_Let us take the_ lumos _spell as an example. There is no noticeable wand movement to make your wand light up. The incantation spoken aloud, is purely to focus your magic on what you want to have happen. Indeed, it is this spell that is most often the first to be learnt to be cast silently. And if the spell was left to your magical power alone, you could end up with a light that was as dim as a fire-bug or as bright as the sun. It is your_ intent _that determines what will happen._

Snapping his wrist, Harry shot his wand out of its holster into his hand.

“Lumos,” he said, watching the tip of his wand light up.

“Nox,” then thinking for a moment, he tried again. “Lumos.”

This time, his wand lit up and he winced at the light that was almost too bright to look at. While squinting at it, he modulated his magic, causing the light to dim almost to nothing before returning to a ‘normal’ brightness.

“Nox.”

Then staring at his wand, Harry imagined what he wanted to have happen and grinned like a maniac as his wand-tip began glowing brightly all by itself. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he extinguished his wand soundlessly before slipping it away.

_This, I believe is the source of the problem that you have been having with your magic. While you have the wand movement correct and the incantation correct and obviously you have the power to spare, you have not been precise enough in your intent. You need to really_ see _what you want your magic to do within your mind before you cast. Once you can see it, you need to believe it and let your magic do the rest._

_Think about it, Harry, I’m sure that there have been times in your life when you have managed to make your magic work without the correct wand movements or incantations. Usually these would have manifested themselves as accidental magic._

Harry’s mind wondered as he thought back over his life.

Aunt Petunia had cut his hair until he was nearly bald, except for a long bit that hid his scar when he was eight. He’d hated it and had wished for his hair to be like it was and, the next morning, it had been back to normal. Then there was that time that Dudley and his gang was chasing him around the school and he’d wished to be somewhere safe and the next thing he knew, he was on the school roof.

That magical vow that he’d cast at Hermione’s house had intent based magic written all over it. Suddenly, a sharp intake of breath had him coughing. There had been one other time that he had a wand in his hand and he’d used his magic without wand movements or an incantation to make something happen.

It’d been during that battle with Quirrellmort. He’d seen Hermione and Neville coming down the grand staircase and he’d known that they were in danger and he’d simply pointed his wand at them and imagined them going backwards, away from danger and then they had. They’d flown back up the steps moments before Quirrellmort had blasted the step that they’d been standing on.

_I hope that that has given you something to think about, Harry. Take your time with it and I’m sure that you’ll succeed._

_If you have any questions about this or anything else, be sure to write to me and I’ll do my very best to help you._

_Keep well._

_Minerva McGonagall._

Slowly, Harry folded the parchment before sliding it back into its envelope. Professor McGonagall had definitely given him a lot to think about and he was sure that he’d need to reread that letter a few more times before he took it all in.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that he’d passed his usual end of Care of Magical Creatures time and had entered the hour of downtime that he had before Beginning Healing. But he knew that before he could even start today’s lesson on the _episkey_ spell, he’d have to clear his head somewhat.

“Dobby, could you pop all of this up to my classroom?” he asked, pointing to not only the letters, but also the pad and pens that he’d been using to take notes on the puffskeins.

With a nod and a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished the various bits of material. Harry felt a pang of guilt at the fact that he hadn’t yet read Neville’s letter, but promised himself that he’d do it straight after his Healing lesson.

“I think I need to go for a bit of a fly, Dobby. Could you please get me my Nimbus?”

With another finger snap, his broom was laying at his feet. With a grin, Harry picked it up and stood.

Yes, a good hard fly around the valley sounded the perfect way to clear his head.


	19. Chapter 19

Twin red-haired heads poked out of the stairwell that led to the common room. Each surveyed one side of the common room before a satisfied smile crossed their faces. The heads turned towards each other and nodded. As one, two left feet stuck out and the two sauntered into the empty room.

“You see, George, I told you that no-one would be here this time of the morning,” one said.

“George? I thought you were going to be George today,” the other protested.

“You’re right, brother, I _was_ going to be George today. But I decided that I’d like to give Fred a whirl.”

The one who was now deemed to be George, shook his head. “Alright. But I get to be Fred tomorrow.”

“Absolutely,” the other agreed. “Now, Gred, we’re well behind schedule.”

“That we are,” the other, possibly George or even Forge, agreed. “We’ve been back at school for a week and we still haven’t checked each other out.”

“Well, to be fair, we were going to do it yesterday until Lee and the girls suggested that game of pick-up quidditch.”

“You’re right. And it simply wouldn’t be right to disappoint those lovely chasers.”

“Lee, not so much.”

“Exactly,” his brother nodded. “Do you want to go first?”

With a nod, the twin stepped back and held out his arms, readying himself. Meanwhile, his brother also stepped back and away, reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Then, with a circle of his wand that seemed to encompass his brother, followed by a rapid cross and a jab, he cast a spell on his brother.

A gentle blue wave washed out and around the twin standing still until it faded from sight, leaving behind six pulsing red splotches.

“Looks like Mum hit us good this time, George,” Fred frowned.

George looked his body over, locating the slight warmth that accompanied the red glow. There was once each behind each knee; one on his right wrist; one on his stomach; one on the back of his neck; and the last one, his ass.

“I don’t think these are all from Mum,” George commented. “Two of them feel a little different.”

Fred leaned in close to his twin to examine the redness. “You’re right. This one and this one,” he said, pointing to the splotches on his brother’s wrist and neck, “aren’t Mum’s normal tracking charms. I’m sure that she’s learnt a new one.”

“Well, she’s definitely been getting a lot of practise with it considering how many times we’ve found it and had to disperse it over the holidays,” George commented. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

In response, Fred stepped back and began to systematically undo the tracking charms on his brother. To be sure, as was their standard practise, a second detection charm was sent over his brother, which thankfully came up clean. Both knew that it’d never do to allow their mother to continue placing tracking charms on them, even while at school, and especially while they were at the Burrow. That way led to too much interference in prank planning.

“Right, you’re clean. Do me,” Fred stated, stepping back and raising his arms.

With a nod, George pulled out his own wand and began the incantation to detect the monitoring charms on his brother. Unfortunately, the two brothers hadn’t taken into account that there might be others who would get up at a ridiculously early time on a Sunday morning. Just as the blue wave of magic left George’s wand, a bushy-haired girl stepped off of the stairs and right into the spell.

Hermione froze as the detection spell washed over her.

“Uh, morning, Hermione,” Fred began, hoping to distract the girl from the magic that encompassed her.

Brown eyes narrowed and darted to each twin. “What are you two up to?”

The answer or lie or story that whichever twin would have been the first to reply disappeared from their head as the blue disappeared, leaving behind two pulsing red splotches on the girl – one behind her neck and the other on the inside of her right wrist.

Fred and George’s eyes darted to their counterpart and locked into place even as their eyebrows rose. Then, as one, they stepped forward and began examining the tracking charms that had been accidentally revealed.

“Hermione,” the one who’d been designated as George for the day asked hesitantly, “you haven’t been near the Burrow over the holidays at all have you?”

“The Burrow?” Hermione replied, distracted by the disturbing closeness of the two red-headed. “No, of course not.”

“Did you go somewhere else?” the other asked as he pulled her hair back to get a closer look at her neck. “Somewhere magical?”

In reply, Hermione spun away from the twins while simultaneously whacking their encroaching hands with her book.

“What are you two oddballs on about?” she asked as she continued to rapidly back away.

“You’ve got a tracking charm on you,” one replied.

“Two, actually, brother,” the other stated, falling into line beside him.

“Right. Two tracking charms. If you haven’t been to the Burrow, where did you go for the holidays?”

“Tracking charm?” Hermione asked, her voice rising with concern.

“Yes. Tracking charms. Just like the ones that we have.”

“Where?” she asked right before noticing the red patch on her wrist and lifting a hand to feel her neck. “How’d I get them?”

“That’s what we’re trying to work out,” the twin on her right asked soothingly. “So where have you gone over the holidays that was in the magical world.”

“Nowhere,” Hermione replied, panicking somewhat. “Well, apart from that day that I visited Salem with my parents and then to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies.”

“And that was a different day to us,” Fred pointed out to his brother.

“It’s highly doubtful that this was Mum’s doing,” the other agreed.

“Here, do me, brother. I want to see something.”

With a nod, George stepped back and cast the detection spell over his brother. As the blue wave disappeared, six red splotches in identical locations to his twins’ appeared.

“This wasn’t Mum,” Fred breathed as he scrutinized the splotch on his wrist.

“You’re right,” George agreed as he looked between his mother’s usual tracking charms to the different ones and then across to the two that Hermione had on her.

“Can you get rid of them?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“’Course we can. Been doing it all summer.”

“Not that that answers how they got there in the first place,” his twin put in.

“You’re right. Apart from Mum, who’d want to track us? Or Hermione?”

“Go get Neville!” Hermione ordered suddenly.

“What?” Fred asked, staring at the girl.

“Go get Neville,” she repeated. “I want to see something.”

The twins looked between her and each other.

“Well, it would be a bit of a prank to get him out of bed at six on a Sunday morning,” one pointed out.

With a decisive nod, the two bounded up the stairs before returning moments later with a squawking, indignant Neville held up between them.

“What’s going on?” Neville demanded, wide-eyed.

“Just stand still, Neville. I want to see something,” Hermione commanded. “And one of you two cast that detection spell on Neville.”

“You know, she’s right scary when she’s this bossy,” one twin observed.

“And that’s why I’m doing as I’m told,” the other replied before releasing Neville, stepping back and casting the spell on the quaking boy.

“Well, would you look at that,” George murmured as twin red splotches appeared on Neville’s wrist and neck.

“How come all _four_ of us have the same tracking charms attached to us in the _exact_ same place?” Fred agreed.

“What do we have in common that someone would want to track us for?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve got tracking charms on me?” Neville asked, his brain obviously still not quite awake enough despite being dragged downstairs.

“We’re Gryffindors,” Fred pointed out.

“And friends,” George replied with a dubious look at Neville.

“Friends,” Hermione repeated before her eyes suddenly widened. “Friends! I think I know!”

“Enlighten us then, dear Hermione,” one twin asked with a mock bow.

“What if whoever put this tracking charm on us was hoping that we’d lead them to our friends? What if they were hoping that we’d lead them to _Harry_?” she asked, her mouth nearly running too fast for the words to be understood.

“Makes sense.”

“Everyone’s looking for him.”

“Harry? But we don’t know where he is,” Neville pointed out.

Hermione grimaced before turning to the twins. “Can you guys get rid of these tracking charms?”

“Sure, nothing to it,” George replied before demonstrating by casting a wide dispersion spell, causing the red splotches to disappear from three others.

“But who do you think cast it?” Neville asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past the Ministry,” Fred stated in as serious a tone as anyone had ever heard from one of the twins. “They’re desperate to find him.”

“And who knows how many others they’re tracking?” Hermione agreed. “Right. Can you two get Percy, explain the situation to him and then check everyone in Gryffindor?”

“Uh, I guess so,” Fred replied, looking to his brother for confirmation.

“What are you going to do, Hermione?” Neville asked.

“I’m going to wake Angelina and send her down to you so that she can organise the girls and then I’m going to go find Harry’s friends from the other Houses for you to check over,” she stated before turning and marching back up the stairs.

“What do you think we should really do?” George asked his brother.

“Exactly what we’ve been told to do,” Fred replied.

“That’s what I thought.”

-oOoOo-

“Professor McGonagall, can we speak to you for a minute?” Hermione asked.

The elderly Transfiguration teacher’s head came up from her desk and her eyes immediately narrowed. It was an instinctual reaction from seeing the two red-headed menaces. What was strange was that they were in the company of Hermione, Neville and Percy.

“Of course. Come in,” she invited.

Once the five were standing in front of her desk, she looked to Hermione who was obviously the spokesperson for the group by the way that the four boys were looking to her.

“Professor,” Hermione began. “We discovered something this morning that we think you should be aware of.”

“Go on,” Professor McGonagall instructed.

“We discovered that there had been tracking charms placed on quite a number of people.”

“Tracking charms? Who? And how did you discover them?” she spluttered.

“That was us, Professor,” one of the twins stated happily. “You see we always check for tracking charms…”

“Courtesy of our beloved Mother,” the other interrupted.

“And I accidently stepped in front of their spell,” Hermione finished. “We found that all three of us had tracking charms and, after we checked Neville, we found that he had them as well. All in the same place on our body – wrist and back of neck – suggesting …”

“Suggesting that the same person placed them there,” Professor McGonagall completed for her.

“We’ve checked all of Gryffindor,” Percy spoke up. “Most of the third years, all of the Quidditch team and Colin Creevey had tracking charms.”

“I also had the twins check all of Harry’s friends from the other Houses. They were marked as well,” Hermione stated.

“Harry? Harry Potter?” Professor McGonagall repeated, still wrapping her mind around the findings.

“Yes, ma’am. We suspect that someone was hoping to use us to lead them to Harry,” Hermione replied.

“That makes sense,” Professor McGonagall mused. “And unfortunately, tracking charms are notoriously difficult to trace back to their caster. I trust that you’ve dispelled the charms?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied.

“Good,” she nodded. “Unfortunately, there’s not a lot that we can do about it at the moment.”

“We could check you out, Professor,” one of the twins stated happily, already brandishing his wand.

Professor McGonagall gulped at the sight before her common sense cut in. “That’s probably a good idea, Mister Weasley. If you’d be so kind?”

Immediately, a soft blue light lit the room before it faded away leaving behind twin red splotches of light on the Transfiguration teacher.

“Just like the others,” Hermione commented with a frown.

“If you would?” Professor McGonagall asked before the twin dispersed the charms.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Twenty points to Gryffindor for excellent spell-work, Misters Weasley,” she smiled. “I’ll make sure to let any of Mister Potter’s other friends know of this as well.”

-oOoOo-

The sound of scrunching paper confused Hermione as she languorously stretched herself awake. As her arched back settled once more onto the bed, the scrunching sound came once more. Opening bleary eyes, she frowned, trying to puzzle out the sound. She was sure that she hadn’t fallen asleep while she was studying last night. In fact, now that she thought about it, she clearly remembered turning in early.

Rolling onto her side, Hermione listened for that scrunching sound once more and found that it was coming from under her shoulder. Lifting herself up, she looked down to discover a scrap of parchment that had been lying underneath her.

Shifting herself up into a sitting position, she picked up the crinkly parchment and unfolded it.

_Happy birthday, Hermione! If you want your present, you know where to go._

She stared, reading the short missive over and over. And then her face broke into the widest grin. Harry hadn’t forgotten her birthday and, if her hunch was correct, she knew _exactly_ where to go to find what he’d gotten her.

Ripping back the curtains from around her bed, she dashed into the bathroom. While she was showering and dressing, her mind, not for the first or even the hundredth time, tried to solve the mystery of how Harry was getting into her dormitory and leaving notes in her bed. The puzzle occupied her, without results, until she was racing out of the room, leaving the mystery behind.

As it was still early, the Gryffindor common room was still empty – a fact that she barely recognised as she raced through it. For once the moving stairs seemed inclined to help her out, all managing to line up exactly as she needed them to to enable her to reach the bottom of Gryffindor Tower faster than she ever had before.

At the bottom of the stairs, she paused, cast her eyes around the room to check that she was, indeed, alone, before slipping in behind the suit of armour in the niche beside the stairs. Once she was hidden from sight, Hermione pulled open the door to the small cupboard and dashed inside.

“ _Lumos_ ,” she said.

The light from her wand hit on a long, thin package wrapped in forest green paper lying on the old coil of rope that Harry had always liked to use as a seat whenever he’d used the room.

With a squeal of delight, Hermione dropped to her knees in front of the package, before noticing that there was a large envelope poking out from underneath it. Indecision warred within her as to which to open first – her parents had always insisted that cards were to be opened before presents. Darting her eyes around the small room, she took careful note of the absence of her parents or anyone else for that matter.

_What they don’t know can’t hurt them_ , she decided mischievously before tearing into the package’s paper.

As the dark green wrapping paper was torn away, a highly polished wood with a yellowish sheen came into view. Then, with a last rip, the paper fell away and Hermione’s jaw dropped.

Slowly, her hands slid along the beautifully crafted and polished wood, from its tip down past the feet spurs and stopping just before it disappeared into the vibrant mahogany tail twigs. The broom was exquisite. And hers. All hers. She couldn’t wait to try it out until a sudden thought made her smile drop away.

Ever since first year, Harry had been teaching her to overcome her fear of heights and to learn to love flying. And she did. She loved flying. But she loved flying with Harry, being up in the air where there was nothing to worry about, nothing to distract her from enjoying the feeling of doing something together, of listening to his joyful laugh even as he did the most impossible and incredibly dangerous stunts that she’d ever seen.

Reverently, she placed the broom back onto the coil of rope and picked up the envelope that came with it. After opening it, she tipped it up, allowing a large stack of paper to fall out along with a second, smaller envelope.

Curiously, she picked up a sheaf of paper that was stapled together. Instantly, her eyes widened as her heart began to beat faster. Tearing her eyes away, she picked up another, just like the first. Two. He’d done two.

With shaking hands, she lay them down and picked up the smaller envelope.

Inside was a card, complete on the front with a giant chocolate cake with fourteen candles on top of it. As she smiled, an animated cat stalked onto the card, eying the cake. It stretched out its neck ready to take a bite before accidentally setting its whiskers on fire and scampering away in fright. Opening the card, she saw a simple birthday greeting signed ‘with love’ from Harry.

_Dear Hermione_ , the letter that had been inside the card read.

_Happy birthday! I really wish that I could be there to say that to you and to give you a great big hug, but I can’t, so we’ll just have to save it up until I see you again._

_I hope that you like the broom – it’s a_ Cleansweep Ten _. Not the fastest broom out there, but I thought that it was beautiful and much more your speed. I want you to promise me that you’ll practise on it so that we can go flying together again one day._

_To be honest, it wasn’t the present that I was originally hoping to give you. I wanted to give you something that I’ve made, but I’ve been having a bit of difficulty with it, so you’ll have to wait for Christmas for that particular present._

_And, when I thought about what you’d really love, I knew exactly what that was. So. Could you please hand in my completed Transfiguration and DADA assignments to Professors McGonagall and Lupin for me?_

_And lastly, just as you requested, I’ve taken a couple of extra pictures for you to have._

_Have a great day, Hermione and know that I’ll spend the day thinking of you._

_Love,_

_Harry._

-oOoOo-

“What in the world is that?” Lisa Turpin asked as she plonked into the seat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast beside Hermione. “Oh, and happy birthday, Hermione!”

“Thank you,” the birthday girl smiled and then, in answer to her question, “that’s a dodo, but how in the world Harry managed to get a photo with one is beyond me. They’re supposed to be extinct!”

“No it’s not and no they’re not,” Susan Bones relied. “That’s a diricawl.”

“Diricawl?” Hermione questioned. “Are they magical?”

“Yep. I’ve got a book about them at home,” Susan replied. “Apparently they can move about by something like apparition.”

“But you’re also right in that muggles called them ‘dodos’,” Hannah Abbot supplied. “Muggles think that they’re extinct, but they’re really not.”

“Do diricawls live on Mauritius like muggles think dodos did?” Hermione asked.

Susan nodded. “That’s the only place that they can be found.”

“Then how is it that Harry’s sitting there patting one?” Hermione wondered. “Has he gone travelling the world?”

“Looks like it,” Lil Moon replied, picking up the second photo of Harry that Hermione had received. “You can only find jackalopes in North America.”

As the talk evolved into what was known about the strange antlered rabbits, Hermione felt as though she was being watched. Looking up and around, she tried to determine who it was. Hurried footsteps caught her attention and she looked to the entrance to the Great Hall just in time to see a green-trimmed cloak and somebody with very familiar platinum blonde hair rushing out.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry stared at the rune in his textbook. He was so engrossed in his concentration that he hadn’t even realised that his nose was all but touching the paper as his eyes roamed over every minute detail. After nearly five minutes, his eyes narrowed slightly before he suddenly straightened, pulled the rather plain exercise book he was working on and copied the rune into what he was now sure was its correct place.

If his arithmantic calculations were correct, then the transference rune that he’d just added should be enough to get his first major piece of enchanting to work. If not, then he knew that it was back to the drawing board.

Laying his pen aside, Harry picked up the exercise book that he’d been attempting to enchant and examined the inside cover.  A mess of dark squiggles and lines that were in actual fact hundreds of runes working and interlocking together covered the soft cardboard. It’d taken him months to learn what each of those runes meant and then weeks more to learn how to draw them and link them together. And now, after nearly six months of work, he thought that he was done.

Seeing nothing amiss, he flipped the book to inside the back cover where another mass of runes had been drawn. These too stood up to his scrutiny, leading him to pick up the second exercise book that he’d been working on and to examine that one, inside its front and back covers to check that they were identical.

Finally, he was satisfied.

“Alright, Potter, time to test it out,” he said.

That was something that had startled him when Dobby had pointed it out to him a few weeks ago.

The house elf had been passing the classroom, intent on some cleaning or other, when he’d popped his small grey head into the room to find out what Harry had wanted. Harry’s startled reaction had led to the rather embarrassing conversation about Harry’s propensity to talk to himself more and more as he worked.

As his eyes focussed on the power rune set in the centre of the inside cover of the first book, Harry’s hand groped along the desk for his wand. Finding it, he brought it to bear until the very tip was touching the correct rune. Then, focussing his magic, Harry pushed enough magic through the wand and into the rune to activate it.

Immediately, the rune glowed a brilliant red that began bleeding off, lighting up each rune on the page. With a satisfied smile, Harry flipped the book to the back cover and repeated the process. And then again with the inside front and back covers of the second exercise book.

A sudden bout of nerves hit him as he switched his wand for his pen. His hand was shaking somewhat as he scratched out a quick message in the first book:

_Does this work?_

His eyes bulged and a small grin began to form as he saw the ink fade away until the page looked as white and clean as it had been before he’d written on it. Intense green eyes flicked across to the second book and he held his breath, waiting, hoping.

Ever so slowly, a smudge of ink began to appear before it blossomed out to form words:

_Does this work?_

Resisting the nearly overpowering urge to spring from his seat and begin dancing around the room, Harry reached out to the second book and, underneath the message that had appeared, wrote:

_Yes, it does!_

Again, his eyes flicked, this time back to the first book where he held his breath until those three simple, amazing words reappeared.

“Yahooo!” Harry cried, flinging himself from his seat to run around the room, his arms raised in triumph.

“Did Master Harry Sir get his little booksies to do what Master Harry Sir wanted them to do?” Dobby asked as he appeared in the doorway.

“Yes! Dobby, they work!” Harry exclaimed as he rushed across, picked up the elf and swung him around in a circle.

A mad worry suddenly hit him and Harry froze, Dobby’s body continuing to swing like a pendulum before Harry lowered him to the ground.

“Actually, Dobby, there’s one more test that I need to run. Distance. I need to check that they work over distance,” Harry babbled.

“What can Dobby be doing to help Master Harry Sir?” Dobby asked, his large green tennis-ball-like eyes pleading with intensity.

Rushing back across the room, Harry snatched up one of the exercise books and a pen.

“Dobby, can you pop down to London somewhere with this and we’ll test them by writing to each other?” he asked.

“Of course, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied.

With a snap of his fingers, the house elf, book and pen were gone.

Harry waited for a slow count to ten before he picked up a second pen and wrote in the book that he’d been left with.

_Dobby?_

A few seconds later, the response came, nearly sending Harry jumping and screaming and dancing around the room once more.

_Yes, Master Harry Sir?_

_Come on home_ , Harry wrote before giving in to the urge to celebrate after so many long months of hard work.

The soft _pop_ of Dobby returning barely interrupted Harry’s dance around the classroom. For now, he’d celebrate. Tomorrow he’d begin working on recreating his invention on the proper journal type books that he’d bought.

-oOoOo-

With a sigh of relief, Harry closed his History of Magic textbook. In the six months that he’d been studying on his own, he’d managed to cover the entire third year Hogwarts curriculum.

History of Magic, he’d found, _wasn’t_ as boring as he’d been led to believe it to be from the first two years that he’d been studying it at Hogwarts. In fact, there’d been times that he’d ended up so engrossed in either a giant war or a goblin rebellion or even the struggles between magicals and muggles that he’d completely lost track of time.

But then, when he thought about it, having Professor Binns, a ghost who’d taught _Dumbledore_ when he was a student, teach the subject wasn’t the smartest idea. Harry didn’t know whether Binns had always been that way or whether he’d simply lost interest in teaching the same thing decade in and decade out, but the ghost’s monotone delivery was incredibly off-putting. It was enough to put anyone to sleep after five minutes. Well, anyone except Hermione, of course.

And now, without that monotonous drone, Harry’d found a real interest and enjoyment in the subject and had finished a years’ worth of work in half the time. While he was half a year ahead in his History of Magic studies that was nothing compared to his Muggle Studies work.

Muggle Studies, or at least what Hogwarts had determined to teach about muggles, was nothing short of the biggest joke that Harry’d ever seen. When he’d first opened the textbook, he’d thought that Fred and George had managed to pull some kind of prank on the entire school. What was being expounded as current, up-to-date facts about muggles were woefully out of date. Decades out of date in some areas, more than a century in others.

The penny-farthing was deemed to be the epitome of two-wheeled convenience. Automobiles still started by the hand-crank. Electricity was touched upon but not explained at all. And, after seeing what magicals thought was current muggle fashion, Harry finally understood why magicals always looked so weird out in the ‘normal’ world.

After six months of studying and laughing at the textbooks, Harry was nearly two-thirds of the way through the fourth year Muggle Studies curriculum. His aim was to finish it by June and try to take the OWL for it as soon as he could after that.

At least he now had a ‘trial date’. The Ministry of Magic had finally succumbed to Mister Tentridge’s persistent inquiries and slated March thirty-one as ‘the first date that the matter could be tried by the Wizengamot’. It was still another four months away but at least there was now an end date in sight.

Harry paused at the top of the flight of stairs that led down to the ground floor. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head before turning away from the stairs and making his way down the hallway towards the second floor of the manor’s library.

It’d taken him half a week to discover the blundering error that he’d made that day when he’d charged Dobby with updating the books that he had. Giving a hyperactive house elf such a vague set of directions as to go to the four biggest magical bookstores in Great Britain and ‘buy whatever books they have on all of the subjects that I’m studying’ was just plain stupid. Harry wasn’t sure exactly how many books those four stores had left on their shelves, but he was sure that it couldn’t be many.

The next time that Harry had entered the library, he’d found Dobby eagerly unpacking trunks full of books. And by the way the house elf kept jumping into the trunk and disappearing for minutes at a time, he knew that it was far more expansive on the inside than it appeared.

And it wasn’t just the normal subjects that Harry was currently studying on his timetable that Dobby had bought for. The elf had interpreted Harry’s orders to mean _any_ subject that he was likely to study. This meant that all of those other subjects that he had some books on, like alchemy; magical etiquette and customs; and spellcrafting, were expanded upon as well.

By the time that Dobby had finished unpacking all of the books that he had bought and shelved them all, both levels of the manor’s library were completely filled. He doubted that even another two dozen books would fit on the current number of shelves that they had.

Entering the library, Harry turned to the left and wandered the shelves along the mezzanine level towards the area devoted to History of Magic. Stopping at the appropriate shelf, he slotted his finished text in and pulled out the fourth year book from its place beside it.

After dropping his new textbook off in the upstairs classroom, Harry headed down to the basement. Usually he only came down here on a Sunday afternoon to practise either his sword work or, on occasion, some duelling.

The animated training dummies that Dobby had procured for him worked wonderfully. Most of his training consisted of watching and copying for the first hour or so, before he’d have to fight. He was definitely still at the novice stage and practised on the easiest setting, where the dummies beat him nine times out of ten. But he was happy learning something new and different, something that magicals seemed to have lost the art for.

Archery, too, was like that – another form of combat that could be useful. Which was why he’d set up a small range down the valley with a couple of bales of hay with a bullseye target affixed to it.

Not that he had any intention of fighting anyone, either using his wand, his sword or his bow, but with the way that he constantly found himself in danger, he figured that it couldn’t hurt to learn ways to defend himself.

Harry found his rowan staff leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. Ever since he’d read that letter from Professor McGonagall explaining that intent was the most important factor in performing magic, Harry’d found that the magic that he could perform using his staff had improved in leaps and bounds.

By no longer being hamstrung by trying to get wand movements correct using a two metre staff, and instead concentrating on his magic and the desired outcome, he had found that he could do any spell, hex or jinx just as well as he had using his holly wand. And that was why every time he now learnt a new spell, he made sure to practise it by using both his wand and his staff.

A small stone wall had been installed widthways near one end of the large room and it was to this partitioned off area that Harry now approached.

Lighting the torches allowed him to see the floor length mirror that had been attached to the far end of the long, thin ‘room’.

Deciding to make his first attempt with his wand, Harry leant his staff on the wall behind him. He then stepped forward and stared at his hair in the mirror. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on _what_ he would want his magic to do. Slowly, a picture built in his mind.

Then, once he felt ready, he lifted his wand until it was pointing at his hair.

“ _Transmutare rutilare_!” he intoned.

After a few seconds of nothing happening, Harry screwed up his eyes, trying to picture exactly what he wanted to have happen.

“ _Transmutare rutilare_!” he intoned again, a little louder this time.

The smallest flash of light erupted from his wand linking briefly with his hair before vanishing. Harry stared, a frown fixed on his face. The whole of his messy black hair was _supposed_ to turn a brilliant shade of red. _Instead_ what he got was the very tips of his hair turning a vibrant red. Not quite what he was after, but it was still a start.

_But then,_ he mused, _this is fifth or sixth year transfiguration that I’m trying to do._

Holstering his wand, Harry reached back and picked up his rowan staff. Holding the staff in one hand, Harry closed his eyes and tried to picture what he wanted. After several minutes, he finally felt ready.

“ _Crinibus caeruleis reformabit!”_ he intoned.

A pleasant warmth appeared on the wood where he held the staff before a flash of light erupted from the ruby at its head. Harry stared at the light that washed out, bathing his hair before it dissipated.

Just like before, the spell failed to turn the whole of his hair a new colour. However just like before, he had, at least, had some success; only this time, instead of the spell leaving him with the tips of his hair red, they were blue.

He wasn’t sure whether the problem that he was having was with the intent, the mental picture that he was trying to project in his mind, or if the problem was a lack of power. The fact that he was getting some results at all was a definite plus. Either way, he had no intention of stopping.

Lifting his staff he prepared to try again.

_“Transmutare capillus flavus!”_

This time the tips of his hair turned yellow.

_“Viridis capillus reformabit!”_

Green tips erupted from the ends of his jet black hair.

_“Transmutare capillum album!”_

The green tips of his hair transformed white.

As he stared at his newest hairstyle, Harry realised that he was beginning to puff slightly. Obviously, the amount of magic that he’d been channelling was a lot more than he could handle at the moment. With a shrug, he decided to leave the transfiguration lesson there. While he probably still had enough energy left to turn his hair back to how it was, he quite liked the different look.

“Well, that’s a start,” he said to his reflection.

It’d be a long time, probably at least a year, he guessed, before he could transfigure his body completely and longer still before he could put that together with the mind exercises that he’d been doing to be ready to even _think_ about the final stages of becoming an animagus, but progress had been made. He could live with that.


	21. Chapter 21

“Auror Dawlish is here to see you, Sir.”

Minister Fudge looked up from the report that he was trying to digest. It was a long, rambling thing outlining the outrageous steps that the American Ministry of Magic had taken to ensure that what the British called creatures – werewolves, centaurs, dwarves and the like – were given the same rights as the common witch or wizard. Buried amongst his intelligence officer’s report were useful nuggets of information that he was sure that Delores could use to stop any similar inroads being made here. But it definitely made for incredibly dry reading.

“Send him right in, Melissa,” Fudge smiled, pushing the report aside to a later time – like one evening when he was finding it hard to sleep.

John Dawlish strode into the room, barely acknowledging the Minister’s secretary with a nod. The instant that the door was closed he took out his wand and, after the nod of agreement from the Minister, applied a number of silencing and privacy wards to the door.

“Welcome back to England,” Cornelius began, indicating that the other man should take a seat across from his desk.

“Thank you, Minister. It’s good to be home,” Dawlish replied.

“I take it you have a report? Good. Any success?” Cornelius asked, the eager hope evident in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Minister, but no.”

Fudge sank back in his chair. “Give me your report, then.”

“Daniels, Higginson and I started our search in Mauritius,” Dawlish began. “There’s only a small magical population on the island and almost all of them are involved in running the Diricawl Preserve. They’ve got the area completely warded with only one way in and every magical has to register before they’re allowed to even step foot in the Preserve.

“We asked them about Potter and even showed his photo but no one there had ever seen anyone like that entering the Preserve. We even managed to convince them to let us look at their log books. There were only nine magicals who entered the Preserve in the past six months and none of them were teenaged, let alone from Britain.”

“Maybe Potter visited a different Preserve,” Fudge suggested.

“We thought of that and asked them where else we could find some diricawls,” Dawlish replied.

“Good. And?”

Dawlish shook his head. “According to them, there _aren’t_ any other Preserves anywhere in the world. In fact, as far as they knew, the only diricawls in existence are on Mauritius.”

“Damn,” Fudge swore. “So if Potter had been there, then he obviously used something like polyjuice to hide under. What about North America.”

“Sorry, Minister, but that was a wash, too,” Dawlish said. “We went to the United States but apparently there are dozens of places where jackalopes can be found, and most of them are in the wild. And apparently, they’ve spread to both Canada and down into Mexico as well.”

“So assuming Potter’s travelling abroad, we’ve got no idea where he is?” Fudge clarified.

Dawlish nodded. “I had Stevenson check the records for International Portkey Departures but he came up empty. We can only assume that Potter’s travelling muggle-style.”

“Well, it was a long shot,” Fudge sighed. “All we had to go on was what young Draco saw from Potter’s friends and what he told Lucius. Speaking of which, it’ll be the holidays soon, make sure that you keep tabs on those friends of his.”

“We’ll check the tracking charms as they get off the train and renew them if we have to” Dawlish stated. “Don’t worry, Minister, those kids aren’t going anywhere without us knowing about it.”

-oOoOo-

Remus Lupin found his best friend and fellow Marauder standing on the landing staring into the open doorway of an almost empty room.

“He should be here, Remus,” Sirius stated in a husky voice.

“I know, Padfoot and if we knew where he was, we’d go get him and bring him home,” Remus replied, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We were supposed to do up his room last summer,” Sirius continued. “Remember he had all those plans. He wanted bookshelves over there with a big comfy chair and a beanbag. A proper desk under the window. I was going to convince him to go with one of those big old ones with the rolling top and little slots for your mail and the like with a red leather writing pad.”

“I know, Sirius,” Remus replied. “We can still do all that. Just as soon as we get Harry home. End of March, remember, then it’ll all be cleared up.”

Sirius sighed. “I know, it’s just …”

For another few minutes, the two stood there, imagining what could have been, what _should_ have been.

“Come on, old friend, there’s presents under the tree, including the ones from Harry,” Remus said, turning his friend around.

At the mention of presents, Sirius’ head perked up.

“Presents! Well then, what are we waiting for? Come on, Moony, let’s get to them and then we can raise a glass of old Ogden’s finest to our Pup, wherever he is.”

-oOoOo-

“This would be ready much faster if Master Harry Sir would be letting Dobby do it by himself,” the house elf complained, not for the first or even the tenth time that morning.

Harry sighed as he looked sidewards at his friend. “I know that, Dobby, but I _enjoy_ cooking and you hardly ever let me anymore. Come on, it’s Christmas, give me this, huh?”

Dobby sighed and shook his head slowly making his great ears sway. “If Master Harry insists. Although Dobby already gave Master all those socks for Christmas.”

“And I love them, Dobby, you know that,” Harry replied, pulling up the hem on his jeans to show off the fact that he was wearing the green sock with golden snitches and the yellow sock with green and red holly stitched on them.

Immediately on seeing the socks, Dobby’s demeanour changed. “And Dobby loves the art set that Master gave Dobby. Dobby is looking forward to getting the beasties in the dome to stand still so that Dobby can be painting a picture of them.”

“Just remember Dobby,” Harry said, a potato peeler emphasising his point, “no freezing the animals. They won’t like it.”

“Yes, Master Harry Sir, Dobby remembers.”

As Harry continued working on peeling the potatoes and sweet potatoes, he noticed the little guy beside him watching him like a hawk, his feet shuffling on the tiled kitchen floor.

“How about you make the dessert, Dobby?” Harry gave in.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir, Dobby can do that,” he beamed. “Would Master Harry like plum pudding or treacle tart for Christmas dinner?”

“Surprise me, Dobby,” Harry smiled. “Just remember that this is a dinner for _two_ , so make sure that it’s something that you like as well.”

Apart from the sound of cutting and mixing and the clink of utensils being used, the kitchen of Potter Haven fell into an easy silence. Together, boy and house elf worked away, intent on creating a Christmas dinner that would take any loneliness that was being felt and push it away, at least for the moment.

As Harry slid the tray of vegetables – potato, pumpkin, carrot and sweet potato – into the oven beside the enormous stuffed chicken that he’d already put in to roast, he smiled at a ‘job well done’. There was still the gravy, the peas and the garlic bread to prepare, but they could wait for an hour or so. The drinks – both butterbeer and sparkling apple juice – were chilling and, from what he could see, the desserts were coming along nicely.

With a bit of time to spare, Harry set to cleaning up the mess that he’d left on the bench and to do a bit of washing up.

“Master Harry Sir,” Dobby called some time later.

At Harry’s look and raised eyebrow, Dobby continued. “Dobby thinks that Master Harry would want to know that his little book is glowing.”

With a massive grin, Harry threw the dishcloth in his hand at the sink and dashed from the room.

-oOoOo-

“Come on!” Hermione insisted, tugging at her parents’ hands as they seemed to ever so slowly walk up the drive towards the front door of their house.

Emma Granger’s musical laugh rang out at her daughter’s impatience. “You do know that the tree and presents aren’t going to simply up and disappear, don’t you?”

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll make _your_ presents disappear, underage restrictions or not,” Hermione grumped.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that …” her father mock-frowned.

Dan stopped dead on the path and turned his wife in his arms. “Emma, what do you say to a _new_ tradition of not opening presents until _after_ dinner from now on?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Emma replied, barely managing to mask her smile.

With a squeal of annoyance, Hermione threw her hands up in the air and marched off up the drive, muttering about ‘ridiculous parents and they’re inane ideas of what constitutes a joke’ just loud enough for her parents to hear.

Laughing at their irate daughter, the two elder Grangers put an arm around each other’s’ waist and followed along.

 Upon entering the house, they found Hermione sitting on her knees in front of the Christmas tree in the sitting room. As they entered, she looked back, a massive grin on her face.

“There’s more presents here now than there were before we left to go see Grandma Hawkins,” she exclaimed, beginning to bounce in her excitement.

“What? How’s that possible?” Dan asked, confused.

“Simple, Daddy. Harry!” Hermione replied, before her face fell into one of annoyance crossed with puzzlement. “Although _how_ he keeps getting into places he shouldn’t be able to and leaving things behind for me is something that I _still_ haven’t worked out.”

“Should we succumb to tradition and open the presents now or implement the new tradition idea?” Dan asked.

“I think we’d better put our daughter out of her misery,” Emma replied, sinking into one of the plush armchairs.

“Okay, but I get to be Santa!” Dan exclaimed, plucking the Santa hat that he’d secreted on top of the display cabinet and stuffing it onto his head.

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione scooted back until she was leaning against a chair while still sitting on the floor. She knew what her father was like when he was in this mood – it’d be a case of immense pointlessness to even attempt to argue with him.

“Alright then,” Dan said as he sat beside the tree, his hand hovering over the presents. “I think the first one had best be … this one!”

He scooped up a small rectangular package wrapped in gold paper decorated with Christmas trees whose lights actually blinked on and off.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Hermione said with barely restrained enthusiasm.

This was precisely the one that she’d been eyeing since the moment that she’d entered the family room. There’d been no doubt that it was from Harry – the chicken scratch with her name on the tag had been a dead giveaway. She tore into the paper, heedless of the fact that her parents were grabbing up the detritus to examine the clearly magical design.

A soft brown leather book fell into her hand and Hermione’s eyes widened at the beautiful feel of it. Turning it over, she found that the clasp that held the book shut was worked in such a way as to be a part of the amazing Celtic design outlined in gold. Slowly, she brushed her hand over the cover once more before attempting to undo the clasp, unfortunately without success.

“Hermione, there’s a note here,” her mother said, holding out a folded piece of paper that had been mixed in with the discarded wrapping paper.

Eagerly, Hermione took it, unfolded it and let her eyes speed across the short note.

_Hey Hermione,_

_Merry Christmas! By now you’ve probably figured out that you can’t open the clasp to the journal that I’ve sent you. It’s password and thought activated. You need to touch the clasp and think of the password (don’t worry, you can reset it later using the instructions on the note in the journal). For now, the password is ‘Hermione’._

_Once you’ve opened it, please do me this one favour and write my name in it and nothing else. I’ll explain very soon, I promise._

_Love,_

_Harry._

After tucking the note into her pocket, Hermione put her hand on the clasp, closed her eyes and clearly thought _Hermione_. A feeling of the clasp clicking free snapped her eyes open so that she could open the journal to the first page. A second note fell into her hands and, after a quick look, she stuffed it into her pocket with the first one.

“Do you have a pen, Dad?” she asked, looking across at her father.

With a quizzical look, Dan dug the pen that he usually carried with him out of his pocket and handed it to her.

Taking it, Hermione wrote exactly as she’d been asked to.

_Harry James Potter._

Her eyes widened as the ink faded before disappearing. With a slight squeal, she shoved the book off of her lap and scampered back and away from it.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” Emma asked, her head swivelling between her daughter, the journal and husband.

“The ink. It … it just disappeared. There was a diary that did that last year and it wasn’t good,” Hermione tried to explain.

“But I thought that Harry gave you that?” Emma asked trying to understand.

“He did, Mum.”

“Harry wouldn’t send you anything dangerous, would he?” Emma asked concerned.

“Hermione, your book’s writing back!” Dan exclaimed, staring at the journal that he’d picked up to examine.

Three heads bumped together in the rush as everyone tried to see what it was saying.

_Hi Hermione! Merry Christmas!_

“That’s Harry’s handwriting!” Hermione exclaimed.

_After last year, you’re probably worrying right about now. But you don’t have to, Hermione. This is really me writing to you. I created it with runes and enchantments. Actually, there’s two of them. I’ve got the other one. Whatever you write, comes to the one that I have and whatever I write, goes to the one that you have._

With a shaky hand, Hermione picked up the fallen pen.

_Harry?_

_Yes, Hermione. How are you?_

_Before we get to that, I need you to prove that you are who you say you are. Tell me something that only Harry and I would know._

Hermione stared at the journal, wondering what it would say and if indeed it would prove that this wasn’t some elaborate prank.

_When you were in the toilet before the thing with the troll, you were thinking of leaving Hogwarts and going home._

Hermione stared, a slow smile beginning to appear on her face. She’d only told one person that that was what she had been thinking. She remembered it well. It was in the cupboard at the base of Gryffindor Tower when she and Harry were first beginning to open up to each other and become proper friends. Eagerly she began writing to her best friend.

_Harry! Merry Christmas._

_Merry Christmas to you, too, Hermione._

_Thank you for the journal, it’s beautiful._

_I thought that you might like it. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday but learning how to enchant it took a lot longer than I thought it would._

_You enchanted this all by yourself? **You’ve been learning enchanting!**_ _That is so unfair, Harry James Potter. You’re just going to have to teach me._

_Sure, Hermione, whatever you want but it’ll have to wait until we can do it face to face. It’s not easy._

_Who else have you given a journal to?_

_Just you so far. It takes ages to do up a pair. So how are you?_

Emma and Dan stared at their daughter who, quite unconsciously they were sure, retreated into one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, the journal and pen all but hidden behind her knees.

“I’m guessing we’ll do the rest of the presents later?” Dan asked.

“Well, it’s your own fault,” Emma replied, whacking him on the arm. “What did you think was going to happen? You gave her Harry’s present first, for crying out loud!”

-oOoOo-

“Remind me next year that we want to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays,” Colin Creevey groused to his little brother.

Realising what he’d just said, he nervously looked around him, but the two mousey-haired brothers were all alone. In fact, the closest of the others in their tour group were at least fifty metres away.

“All right, Colin,” Dennis replied. “But you know that the holidays aren’t usually like this.”

Colin nodded. Dennis was right. Creevey family Christmases were usually a small but noisy affair with just them, their parents and occasionally, their dad’s brother, their aunt and their two younger cousins. Most times they’d stay at home with every third year or so, going to Uncle John and Aunt Sarah’s.

This year, however, their parents had announced that they were doing something special. Apparently their parents had been saving for years to go on a tour of the Scottish Highlands and to see all of the historical sites, including Hadrian’s Wall. And, as it turned out, a ten day bus trip was hundreds of pounds cheaper in the winter. Thus, the two boys had been stuck on a bus by day, traipsing around the country every now and again and spending the nights on an uncomfortable bed somewhere unpronounceable.

Including today, there were only two days left of the tour, which Colin thought was a _very_ good thing. Being surrounded nearly constantly by muggles meant that he’d had hardly any chance at all to do his homework. Oh, sure, there’d been plenty of photo opportunities, but even there he’d been forced to use his old muggle camera instead of the amazing one that Harry had given him back in June.

Colin and Dennis climbed aboard the bus and trudged back to their seats. This time, at least, Colin got the window seat meaning that it wouldn’t be quite as boring as usual. Ten minutes later, the last of the people in their tour group meandered out of the old pub in the middle of the small village, wherever it was that they happened to be right then, to board the bus.

“Right, once everyone’s seated, we’ll get going again,” the annoyingly cheerful voice of the tour guide called over the sound system.

Propping his elbow up on the tiny window ledge, Colin put his chin into his hand and looked out. The pub wasn’t much to look at, big and old with a red roof, much like the dozens of others that he’d seen recently.

As he stared out the window, an older boy appeared from the side of the pub carrying a large garbage bag. Idly Colin watched him walk through the powdering of snow towards the big bins off to the side. There was something about the boy that felt familiar to Colin, drawing his eye in more and more.

It wasn’t until the garbage bag had been dumped and the boy straightened that Colin started, nearly jumping in his seat. The messy black hair. Those glasses. Even the way he was standing.

“Harry!” Colin yelled, banging on the window. “Harry!”

Of course, being inside the bus meant that Colin couldn’t be heard.

Hearing the engine rumble into life, Colin knew that he only had a few seconds left.

Keeping his eyes trained on the figure standing near the big bins, Colin fumbled his camera into place in front of his face. Then, just as the bus lurched into motion, he managed to snap a single picture.


	22. Chapter 22

In his haste, Colin nearly ran all the way from the Gryffindor Common Room down and across to the fourth floor classroom on the other side of the school.

He’d only been back in the castle for less than half an hour, barely enough time to take his trunk up to his dormitory and to make sure that the precious film canister was still in his pocket. His dorm-mates had tried to ask him about his holidays as they unpacked, but Colin hadn’t been in the mood for conversation – he had much more important things to do.

This part of the castle was mostly abandoned so he knew that he wasn’t likely to be interrupted by unexpected people bursting in on him. And that was precisely why Professor McGonagall had given the Hogwarts Photography Club the use of this particular classroom: unexpected light from a badly timed opened door in the middle of developing film was likely to ruin any photos.

As soon as he’d burst into the room, he spun around with his wand drawn and closed and sealed the door, just like Harry had shown him. The windows were already blacked out and the torches charmed to produce only a low-level red light that allowed the photographers to see what they were doing without impacting on their developing.

Standing in front of his usual bench, Colin began pulling trays and bottles of potions and chemicals towards him. Really, he’d wanted to do this at home but there simply hadn’t been time between the end of the tour and when he’d had to board the Hogwarts Express to come back to school.

It was a time consuming job, particularly with a thirty-six shot roll of film, but it was work that he enjoyed so he didn’t begrudge the time. At the appropriate stage, his hand hovered over the special potion that would animate the muggle photos into moving wizarding ones but with a shake of his hand, he resisted temptation. He planned on giving the photos to his parents and, being the muggles that they were, it was best that they didn’t have too many wizarding photos around the house if they could help it.

Finally, over two-thirds of the way through the film, he came to the one that he was most interested in. As he waited for the photo to come into focus, a nervous little jig started up. And then he saw it and without a doubt it was exactly who he thought it was: Harry Potter.

With a decisive nod, he hung the photo up to dry and set about making a copy of it, only this time much larger.

-oOoOo-

“Um, Neville? Hermione?” Colin said as he stood nervously just to the side of the chairs in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room that the two third years were seated in.

“Hello, Colin. How was your holiday?” Hermione replied with a smile as she looked up and over at him.

“Okay, I guess,” Colin replied moving around in front of them, “actually, that’s kind of what I want to talk to you about. I’ve got something that I think you should see.”

Hermione and Neville looked at each other before turning back to the nervous-looking boy in front of them.

“What’s that, Colin?” Neville asked.

After a furtive glance around them, Colin thrust two down-turned photos into their hands.

Curious, Hermione took them, turned them over and gasped, a hand slapping over her mouth.

“Where’d you get these?” Neville asked in an intense near-whisper.

“I took it last week,” Colin replied. “You see my parents took my little brother, Dennis, and I on a tour of Scotland and as we were leaving a pub after a lunch one day, I saw … him. We were already on the bus and were leaving and I couldn’t get his attention through the window or talk to him, so I took the photo to prove what I saw.”

As Hermione listened to Colin’s story, she was half bent over staring at the larger of the two photos that he’d given them. She moved the photo this way and that, trying to find the best light to see it by.

There was no doubt in her mind that it was Harry. He was standing near some industrial size bins, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in an incredibly familiar pose. _What_ he’d done to his hair, though, she had no idea. It was mostly the same messy black mop that it always was, except for the tips, which were a deep red.

Shifting her eyes from Harry, Hermione examined the rest of the image. Behind him was a large building made out of red stone – the pub that Colin had mentioned, she supposed. And then she saw something that made her eyes go wide: the name of the pub on the sign hanging above the door – _The Plough and Shear_.

“Colin,” she said urgently, “do you still have the negatives?”

“Sure, they’re right here,” Colin replied, pulling a tiny packet out of his pocket.

And before either of the two boys could blink, she’d snatched the negatives from Colin and the other, smaller photo from Neville, before throwing them as well as the larger photo still in her hand straight into the fire.

“Hermione!” Colin protested.

“Shut up, Colin!” she snapped. “Did you see what was in those photos? The name of the place where he was, that’s what! And if anyone ever saw that, he’d be found before we could do anything about it.”

Her eyes darted from boy to boy, making sure that they understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Did you show them to anyone else?” Hermione demanded.

“No, no, I thought that you’d want to see them first,” Colin replied.

“Good. I want you to promise me, Colin, that you won’t tell anyone where you saw … him,” Hermione insisted.

“Sure, Hermione,” Colin replied, “don’t worry about me, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded.

“Thanks for showing us first, Colin,” Neville said with a small smile in an attempt to counter the frightening visage that Hermione was portraying.

The two third years looked back at the fire after Colin had left. The fire was eagerly licking at the blackened, charred remains of what little of the photos was left.

“Do you think he’ll tell?” Neville asked hesitantly.

“He won’t if he knows what’s good for him,” Hermione replied.

“Should we tell the others that we know where he is?” Neville asked a short while later, a question that neither of them knew how to answer right then.

-oOoOo-

Two days. That’s as long as she managed to last. Not once in that time had she sought Colin out or gone to the library in search of a map of Scotland or even written to Harry in her journal about Colin seeing him.

But it was a mystery. And she hated unsolved mystery. At least that had been one thing that her fast-paced reading had been good for – she was able to read to the end of a book in a couple of hours at the most, so never had to wait too long to find out ‘who done it’.

And, unfortunately for Hermione, the number of mysteries surrounding her were starting to pile up.

The big one, of course, was where Harry was hiding out. A mystery that Colin just simply had to compound. Then there was the mystery of how Harry had been managing to get into and out of Hogwarts not only to leave letters under the pillows of all of his friends, but also to get into the cupboard at the base of Gryffindor Tower to retrieve his daily mail, class notes and assignments.

And after getting that journal for Christmas, she was dying to know how Harry had done it. Not to mention wanting to find out what other things, apart from enchanting, that he’d been learning. And doing it without her! She was sure that if Harry could learn extra subjects, then she could too. After all, _she_ was the one with access to the Hogwarts library, arguably the largest library in Great Britain.

So, after two days of managing _not_ to do anything with the information that Colin had dumped on her, Hermione found herself in the library searching out maps of Scotland. Her hand lingered on the spine of the book that she wanted as it sat, mocking her, on the shelf before she growled and pulled it to her.

-oOoOo-

“Why in the world are we meeting _here_ of all places?” Fiona Spinks near whined as she, Daphne and Tracey plodded their way across the snow covered quidditch pitch.

“Yeah,” Tracey agreed, “ _anywhere_ in the castle would be warmer than out here.”

A faint smile graced Hermione’s face as she paused in her spellcasting to look over at her approaching friends.

“I promise that I have a really good reason,” she said.

“And that is?” Daphne asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ll explain once everyone is here,” Hermione replied.

Hermione had been waiting in the middle of the quidditch pitch long enough to clear away the snow in a radius of several metres, as well as drying off the ground before applying warming and cushioning charms to it. Now, as she waited for the rest of those she’d asked to come to arrive, she concentrated on conjuring the largest bluebell flames that she could in the middle of the cleared off area.

The instant that the heat began radiating off of the flickering blue flames, all four girls drew closer, holding out their hands to warm them.

And, like moths to a flame, they were quickly joined by the others that Hermione had asked.

Hannah and Susan arrived arm in arm, with Lil Moon walking beside them; Neville and Colin also came together, with Colin talking a mile a minute about something that Hermione was sure Neville wasn’t interested in; Luna, as was her usual practise, drifted in almost absentmindedly before proceeding to nearly wiggle her toes into the fire; and last to arrive were the red-headed twin menaces who called themselves Fred and George.

“You lot weren’t waiting for us, were you?” one of them asked.

“’Cause we _would_ have been here earlier,” the other continued.

“But we saw Mrs Norris looking like she needed some water …”

“Although, dear brother, I do wonder if giving her a drink of frozen snowball was the best way to go about it.”

“You know, I think you’re right. Next time we’ll drop her into a snow drift,” the one on the left nodded sagely.

“Have you two quite finished?” Hermione asked exasperatedly.

“Now _that’s_ a good question. _Have_ we finished, George?”

“I guess for now,” the one now identified as George replied before both looked at the bushy-haired girl and giving a single nod.

“So why are we meeting out here instead of in the nice warm castle?” Fiona asked once more.

“Because we can’t take the risk that what we have to tell you will be overheard,” Hermione replied. “Even the barest hint of it could be disastrous.”

“Now that’s one way to get our attention, Hermione,” Fred allowed.

“Yes, if you’d told us that before, we would have skipped out on terrorising Mrs Norris until later,” George agreed.

“Before we get to that, though, can you two check us over for charms again?” Hermione asked.

“Sure thing,” said George pulling his wand from his robe.

Twin beans of soft blue light washed over the assembled dozen students, Fred and George making sure to include their counterpart in their spells. As the wave of magic dissipated, glowing red splotches of colour were left behind on nearly everyone. Only Fiona and Luna, both of whom had stayed at the castle over the Christmas break, were free from the new tracking charms located on the back of the neck and on the right wrist of all of the others.

Without being asked, Fred and George promptly proceeded to dispel the charms.

“I was afraid of that,” Hermione frowned.

“At least we know that whoever’s putting them on us can’t get to us in the castle,” Susan pointed out.

“We’ll check out everyone else later,” George promised.

“So, what was it that you wanted to tell us?” Lil asked.

In reply, Hermione looked across the fire. “Colin?”

“Are … are you sure, Hermione?” he asked nervously. “You said …”

“They’re his friends, too. They deserve to know,” Hermione replied, fervently resisting the urge to sigh or change her mind once more.

Colin looked around the fire at the curious faces directed his way before gulping and blurting out his news in a single breath.

“I saw Harry over the holidays.”

“What!”

“Where?”

“How is he?”

The multiple exclamations and questions rocked him back slightly and his mouth opened and closed, unsure which to answer first.

“Alright, alright, give him a chance,” Neville called, quietening everyone down. “Colin, just tell the story like you told us.”

“My parents took my brother and me on a tour of Scotland over the holidays and as we were leaving a pub one day, I saw Harry,” he said before quickly adding, “I didn’t get to talk to him or anything – I was already on the bus and we were leaving. All I could do was take his picture.”

“You have a picture of Harry?” Daphne asked eagerly. “Can we see?”

“I destroyed it. It and the negatives,” Hermione admitted.

“Why would you do that without letting us see? We’ve seen other pictures of Harry,” Luna pointed out.

“I know, but this one showed the name of the pub where he was and if the wrong person saw it …” Hermione explained.

“So … so where is he?” Fiona asked quietly.

Biting her lip with her uncertainty, Hermione allowed her hands to dig into her book bag and bring out the large book that she’d borrowed from the library. Automatically, it fell open to the page that she’d bookmarked and she turned it around so that the group that had crowded around her could see.

The double page spread showed the Borders region of Scotland. With one finger, Hermione tapped at a particular village not far from the border between Scotland and England.

“He’s in the same country as us,” Hannah breathed. “I was sure that he was overseas somewhere.”

“That’s not that far,” Tracey commented. “A couple of hours by train at the most.”

“We could … we could go and … see him,” Colin suggested. “I could take you there.”

Everyone looked at everyone else, trying to gauge their thoughts on that almost inconceivable idea.

“We can’t leave Hogwarts,” Hermione finally pointed out.

“Ah, there, I think you’re wrong, Hermione,” Fred contradicted.

“It’s not so much ‘can’t’ as a ‘not supposed to’,” George agreed.

“But the gates to Hogwarts are always closed,” Susan pointed out.

“There are other ways in and out of Hogwarts,” George countered.

“And they’re not _always_ closed,” Fiona agreed. “They’re open every Hogsmeade weekend.”

Once again, it was obvious that thoughts were running rampant in a dozen or so minds, easily visible by the eyes darting this way and that.

“But Hogsmeade is cut off from the outside world. The only way in or out of it is to either FLOO, apparate, portkey or walk,” Hermione stated.

“Again, I’m sorry to say that you’re information is not quite accurate, my dear Hermione. There’s also the Knight Bus,” Fred said.

“But it wouldn’t be safe for Harry if we actually found a way and went and visited him,” Daphne pointed out. “If even one person found out, he’d be caught and taken to the Ministry and then who knows what would happen?”

“Daphne’s right,” Susan agreed, “the DMLE haven’t dropped their charges against Harry and Aunty Amelia says that, as much as she might want to, she can’t until after his trial.”

Fred and George, meanwhile, had stepped slightly back and bent their heads together. Hermione, noticing this, eyed them suspiciously.

“What are you two planning?” she asked slowly.

Twin heads with identical grins snapped around to eye her and then the others.

“We, Gred and Forge, are, as I’m sure you all know, masters of pranks,” Fred began.

“A position that we’ve held for many a year and the only time that we’ve ever been caught …” George continued.

“Was when we wanted to be,” they said together.

“So, if you _really_ want to visit Harry, then we can plan it,” Fred finished.

“But what about us?” Luna asked, motioning to Colin. “We’re only second years. We’re not even allowed out of the castle to visit Hogsmeade.”

“Not a problem,” George replied, waving the objection away as a non-matter.

“I’m not sure about this,” Hermione muttered.

Inside her, a battle was waging full bore. On the one hand, she had always been a stickler for the rules, even long before she came to Hogwarts. But on the other hand, a chance to see Harry …

“I’m with Hermione. If my Aunty ever found out, I’d be in so much trouble,” Susan agreed.

“Well I’m willing to hear them out,” Lil stated confidently. “The worst that happens is that we decide that it’s too dangerous for both us and Harry and decide not to go through with it.”

Nods all around agreed with Lil.

“Alright, we’re willing to listen to this ‘masterful’ plan of yours,” Hermione finally said as ten heads stared expectantly at the two red-heads.

Fred and George were grinning like maniacs, a sparkle of mischief in their eyes as they rubbed their hands together, whether to warm them or for dramatic effect was anyone’s guess.

“Now,” Fred began, “the next Hogsmeade visit is the fifth of February. That’d give us the perfect cover.”

“But we’re going to need access to some trustworthy muggles …” George continued.


	23. Chapter 23

Breakfast had not long finished when Oliver Wood, seventh year Gryffindor and Captain of the quidditch team, felt a pair of arms hook into his arms on either side and steer him into one of the vacant classrooms that he’d just been passing.

“What?” he began to protest before his head whipping backwards and forwards found the cause of his sudden change of direction.

The fact that it was the Weasley twins both calmed and terrified him at the same time – calmed because they were a known entity, but terrified, because, well, they were the _Weasley twins_ and anything could and usually _did_ happen around those two.

He watched as the door behind them was shut and promptly warded for privacy by his two red-headed beaters.

“What do you two want?” Oliver asked. “We’re going to be late for class.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that,” one, Fred, Oliver thought, said, waving off the objection.

“Exactly. You can’t be late if you don’t turn up,” the other, most likely George, agreed.

Oliver frowned at them. “I don’t have time to be missing classes. This is my NEWT year.”

“What, not even for your star seeker?” Fred asked.

“McLaggen? What’s he got to do with anything?” Oliver wondered.

Fred stuck one finger into his ear and promptly wiggled it about.

“Remind me to go visit Pomfrey when we’re done here, brother, I was sure that I said ‘star seeker’,” Fred stated.

“You did, brother,” George replied. “I heard it, too. Of course, it could be _Oliver’s_ hearing that needs checking out.”

Oliver backed away slightly at the penetrating stares that the two turned on him.

“Not McLaggen, then?” Oliver asked.

“Of course not!” Fred replied, one hand over his heart showing his disbelief at the very suggestion. “I did say ‘star seeker’.”

Oliver’s brain rapidly kicked into gear. There was only one Gryffindor seeker that could be considered a ‘star’. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on the team this year. Hell, he wasn’t even at _Hogwarts_ this year.

“You mean, Harry?” Oliver asked, his voice a near whisper.

“Right in one, Oliver,” George beamed, before turning to his twin. “See, I told you all those bludgers to the head hadn’t done him any harm.”

Ignoring the bludger to the head comment for a moment, Oliver focussed on the important part of the conversation. “What’s this got to do with Harry?”

“Well, you see, Oliver …” Fred began.

“We happen to know that you’re ‘of age’ …” continued George.

“Which means that you’ve had apparition lessons.”

“And you’ve even got a licence to do it.”

“And we have this little letter here that needs to be posted,” Fred told him, pulling out an envelope from a side pocket of his robes.

“The muggle way,” they smiled together.

Oliver looked from one to the other of the twins. “What’s that letter got to do with Harry? And why can’t you just send it the normal way?”

“Ask us no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, Oliver,” George replied.

“But believe us when we tell you that it’s for Harry’s own safety that we do it this way,” Fred replied seriously.

“Okay, okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want me to post a letter muggle style?”

“Right in one, Oliver old chap,” George beamed.

“And exactly how do you expect me to do that?” Oliver asked. “It’s not like I can simply walk out of the front gate. And even if I could, I’ve got no idea how to post a letter the muggle way – I’m born and raised magical, remember?”

“You, my friend, worry too much,” George told him.

“We can get you past the wards. All you have to do is apparate to a muggle town and post the letter,” Fred explained.

“And as for knowing how to post it,” George continued. “We’ve got that covered as well.”

“Yes, it seems that Katie isn’t feeling too well for some unknown reason and we’re sure that she’d be happy to go with you and help out with the muggle side of things,” said Fred.

Oliver didn’t even want to guess why Katie Bell wasn’t feeling well but knew that it had something to do with the two standing in front of him. His eyes were drawn to the letter held up before him. A letter that had something to do with Harry Potter, a boy that he’d taken quite a shine to and not just because of his amazing skills on a broom and his ability to catch a snitch.

He’d heard the stories over the past six months or so and in nearly every one, it sounded as though Harry was having a hard time of it. If posting a single letter could help him in any way, he guessed that it was the least that he could do. After all, exactly how useful would Herbology be once he graduated and became a professional quidditch player? Of course, he refused to think what sort of ‘punishment’ the twins could come up with if he refused to help.

“What do I have to do exactly?” Oliver asked.

-oOoOo-

Emma Granger absently sorted through the mail as she walked back up the path to the front door of her house. She’d had quite a draining sort of day that day – dealing with a particularly uncooperative eight year old in need of five fillings would do that – and was extremely glad to be home.

Just before she reached for the door, the writing on the last letter in the pile caught her attention and her eyes widened. Quickly she opened the door and made her way through to the kitchen where she knew Dan was in the process of ordering some take out Chinese.

“We’ve got a letter from Hermione,” she said the instant that her husband hung up.

“Hermione?” Dan asked, giving her a quizzical look. “Are Hogwarts sending letters the normal way now?”

Without replying, Emma tore open the envelope, pulled out the heavy parchment inside and began to read. Groping blindly with one hand, she pulled out the closest chair and lowered herself into it as she read the letter for a second time. None of it made sense and making sense was one thing that you could always count on with Hermione, regardless of all of the magical things that she had to explain in great detail.

“What is it, darling?” Dan asked.

Shaking her head, she simply passed over the letter.

Emma watched his eyes bug out as he read through the strange request.

“She wants us to do WHAT?” Dan exclaimed, staring up at her.

-oOoOo-

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Fred said.

Currently, he was seated in one of the old dusty lounge chairs that he and his brother had managed to acquire from one of the abandoned teacher’s lounges. It and the three others, plus the small stained table sitting in the middle of the circle of chairs made up the ‘social’ part of their lair. The rest of the room was filled with benches and tables and potion ingredients and half-finished pranking materials.

“Um, exactly, _where_ is _here_?” Angelina Johnson asked, looking around the room.

George and Lee Jordan shared a grin. They’d managed a _confundus_ charm on the three girls before bringing them to their home away from home.

“That would be our Pranking Lair,” George finally replied. “We needed somewhere private to talk to you all, but we couldn’t exactly give away all of our secrets now, could we?”

“We’ll decide that later,” Alicia Spinnet glared.

“If your explanation isn’t good enough, expect some serious hexes to be coming your way,” Kaiie agreed.

“It’s like this, girls, and Lee,” Fred said. “We need the four of you to do a little shopping for us in Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

At the mention of ‘shopping’, the three girls perked up, although there was still a fair amount of distrust apparent in the looks that they were giving the twins.

“Why?” Alicia asked suspiciously.

“Well, you see, we need some shopping done for a number of people who won’t have the opportunity to do it themselves,” George explained.

“And we also want to give the appearance that they were actually _in_ Hogsmeade to do it themselves,” Fred added.

“I’d ask why they can’t do it themselves, but knowing you two, I suspect I’m better off not knowing, aren’t I?” Angelina stated.

Twin red-headed grins beamed at her. “Got it in one, Angelina.”

“Exactly who would we be shopping for?” Lee asked. “It’s not just a bunch of clothes shopping is it?”

With a tap of his wand, George dispersed the concealment charm on the tabletop, bringing ten small money bags into view. Underneath each one was a piece of parchment.

“Well, there’s us, of course,” Fred replied, “as well as Hermione and Neville, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and Lil Moon from Hufflepuff and Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Fiona Spinks from Slytherin.”

Katie’s eyes narrowed. “They’re all friends of Harry’s.”

Fred and George looked at each other.

“Please don’t ask, guys, it’s just better that way,” George pleaded earnestly.

“For you, we probably wouldn’t do this,” Alicia stated for all four, “but if it’s for who we think it is, then we’re in.”

With nods of agreement all around, the ten small bags and shopping lists were quickly divided up.

-oOoOo-

“ _Psst_! You two! Over here!”

Luna and Colin peered around the third floor corridor. Not seeing anyone, they followed the sound of the voice.

“Oh, hello, Frederick Weasley, Hello, George Weasely,” Luna greeted the two calmly.

Beside her, little Colin Creevey grinned nervously at the two lanky red-heads.

“Move in a bit,” Fred instructed, “we don’t want to be seen by anyone.”

The four shuffled around until they were all hidden from view behind the curious statue of a one-eyed witch with a great lump on her back.

“Do you two remember the plan?” George asked in a near whisper.

“The only plan that you told us was to meet here at this time,” Luna replied, looking curiously at the back of the statue’s head.

“Ah, yeah, right,” George spluttered. “Well, the plan’s a fairly simple one. We’re going to open a passage for you that’ll lead you straight to Hogsmeade.”

“Where will we come out?” Colin asked.

“Honeydukes,” Fred grinned.

“Cool,” Colin grinned back.

“Yeah, well there won’t be time for you to buy anything and even if there was, we wouldn’t let you. Don’t want anyone to know that you’ve been out of the castle, do we?” George stated.

“Once we open the passage, slide down, light your wand and walk to the end. Don’t go up the ladder at all, wait until we come and get you,” Fred instructed.

“You’re not coming with us?” Colin asked, a slight worry creeping into his voice.

“Well, of course not, Colin. They need to be seen leaving the castle the ordinary way,” Luna stated matter-of-factly.

“And that, gentlemen, is why Luna’s a Ravenclaw,” Fred grinned.

“Right, let’s get you two on your way,” George said, pulling out his wand. “ _Dissendium_.”

Immediately, the one eyed witch’s lump parted enough to allow the two second years enough space to slide into the darkened passage. Once they were in, George repeated the incantation to close the entrance back up, before the twins left to make their own way out of the castle.

-oOoOo-

Lil was the first to arrive.

The old abandoned house at the end of the lane was reputed to be the most haunted site in Great Britain. And just looking at the run-down building with its ramshackle appearance and neglected yard, she could easily believe it. Even if there hadn’t been a fence and signs warning everyone away, there was no way that she would have gone anywhere near it. And that, she guessed, was why Fred and George had picked this particular spot to meet.

Looking around, Lil spied the perfect place to sit while she waited. From here, she could peek through the leaves of the bush and see down the lane without being seen herself.

Hermione and Neville were next to arrive, both looking all around, not just at the Shrieking Shack but also at the countryside.

“Hermione, Neville!” she called.

Upon seeing her, both broke into smiles and made their way across to her.

A few minutes later, Daphne, Tracey and Fiona joined them, quickly followed by Susan and Hannah.

“Do you think the twins managed to get Luna and Colin out of the castle?” Hannah asked after they’d been waiting for the remainder of their group for some time.

“If anyone could manage it, I’m sure that those two could,” Neville replied.

“And for that, young Neville, you just bought yourself out of any pranks for the rest of the school year,” Fred announced.

The group spun around to find their missing four companions materialising out of the undergrowth behind them.

“Sorry for the delay – had to wait for a bit before we could get these two out without being seen,” George apologised.

“And then, with so many people around the village, we thought that we’d better get here across country,” Fred continued.

“Right then, if everyone’s ready, let’s get going,” George grinned.

Stepping to the front of the group, he raised his wand.

A brilliant _bang_ exploded in front of them as a violently purple triple-decker bus materialised. They watched as a pimply boy who looked as though he must have only graduated from Hogwarts the year before stepped down onto the road, a note-card in his hand.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard” he read. “My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor for today.”

With that, he looked up at the group of twelve students grouped before him.

“What you lot doing hailing the Knight Bus for?” he asked.

“Well that would be because we need a lift,” Fred told him.

“What you need a lift for? You’re Hogwarts students you are, you aren’t supposed to leave the castle,” Stan argued.

“Ah, but it’s a Hogsmeade weekend, Stan, me lad, and that means that we _can_ leave the castle,” Fred explained.

“Ah, yeah, right,” Stan replied, looking as though he was having difficulty with Fred’s statement. “So, what you waiting for then, are you getting on or aren’t ya?”

One by one, with Fred in the lead, the twelve filed past Stan.

Inside the bus, instead of ordinary looking seats, there was a cacophony of every type of chair imaginable – from lawn chairs to recliner chairs to stools to lounge chairs. One by one, they picked a seat. Before the last of them, Hannah, had managed to sit down, the bus had taken off. Everyone and everything lurched violently, including the chairs. Both Hermione and Luna found themselves thrown to the floor, while Hannah ended up in Neville’s lap.

“Where you lot going to then?” Stan asked as he stood, swaying beside Fred.

“The Kelso post office,” Fred replied.

“That’s not a magical place,” Stan stated.

“We know that,” Fred replied as his grip tightened on the pole beside him as the bus suddenly changed direction. “But that’s where we want to go.”

“Alright then, that’ll be twelve sickles each.”

Fred dug into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of coins.

“Here’s ten galleons for you to move us up the line and to forget that you ever saw us,” Fred offered.

Stan’s eyes lit up. “Right you are, then. I’ll just go tell Ern where we’re off to then.”

Fifteen disturbingly erratic minutes later, the twelve of them stumbled from the bus. Daphne and Lil looked decidedly green and Neville, whose face was still red from the fact that Hannah had refused to move from his lap, looked to be swallowing quite hard.

“Never again,” Hermione declared as she tumbled to the pavement after the bus had disappeared with an enormous _bang_.

“Sorry, Hermione, but unless you’re refusing to go back to the castle, we’ll see it again later this afternoon,” George told her in a voice which she thought was far too cheerful.

“I thought it was brilliant!” Colin exclaimed, missing the death glares directed at him from half of his friends.

“Hermione?”

Hermione looked up from the ground where she was still sitting to see a pair of very familiar people cautiously walking towards them.

“Mum! Dad!” Hermione exclaimed scrambling to her feet.

In an instant, she was locked in a three-way hug.

“Come on, I want you to meet some friends of mine,” Hermione said pulling back and tugging on her parents’ hands.

“You know Neville, of course,” Hermione began, “and these are Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Lil Moon, Luna Lovegood, Colin Creevey, Fiona Spinks and Fred and George Weasley. Don’t ask me which one is which, it’s simply too confusing trying to keep them straight. Everybody, these are my parents, Emma and Dan Granger.”

After some nods and shy hello’s all around, Dan turned to his daughter.

“Now, Hermione, are you ready to tell us exactly _why_ we’re here?”

“Did you hire a mini-bus like I asked you to?” Hermione asked, ignoring her father’s question for the moment.

Dan nodded. “Any bigger and I wouldn’t have been able to drive it, though. It’s over there.”

“Good,” Hermione declared. “I’ll explain on the way.”

With puzzled frowns, the elder Grangers led the group across to the fifteen seat bus that was parked just down the road. Once they had all piled in and found a seat, Hermione pulled the book of Scotland maps from her satchel and knelt in the space between her parents seated in the front seats.

“We know where Harry is,” she began happily. “Colin saw him over the Christmas break. Not that Harry saw him, of course. So, we’re here to go and visit him.”

Emma and Dan shared a startled look, not that they weren’t overly surprised that this unexpected trip had something to do with their daughter’s best friend.

“Are you sure that that’s a good idea, dear?” Emma asked cautiously. “Harry’s been hidden for so long. What if you just end up bringing trouble to him?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Hermione stated. “The plan that Fred and George came up with was brilliant …”

“Cheers, Hermione!” Fred called.

“You just earned your waiver from pranking for the rest of the year, too,” George added.

“And we’ve taken a lot of precautions,” Hermione continued. “No one knows that we’re here or where we’re going. That’s why we had you meet us here. Harry’s still a half hour drive away and there’s no magicals around to track us.”

“No one’s seen the boy for over seven months, Emma. If they’re sure that we’ll be keeping Harry’s secret safe then I say we go. At least that way we can tell Sirius that we’ve seen him and checked him over,” Dan stated.

“But you can’t tell anyone where he is!” Hermione quickly declared. “Not even Sirius! No one else can know where Harry is. It’d be too dangerous for him.”

“Alright, love,” Emma soothed, “we won’t tell.”

“Now, just where am I going?” Dan asked, pulling the book of maps towards him.

-oOoOo-

“This is the place,” Colin declared as the minibus pulled in to park in front of the pub.

Heads all around the bus craned out the windows to look at the big red-stone building. In big letters above the door were the words _The Plough and Shear_.

“Come on, then,” George called, leading the procession from the bus.

Once they’d gathered on the gravel siding, the fourteen, with Dan and Emma bringing up the rear, filed through the door.

Inside, they noticed four customers gathered in pairs off to their left around high tables, nursing drinks. Directly in front of them, though, was a long wooden bar, an old wrinkled man standing behind it, wiping the counter down with a cloth.

“What can I do for you?” the old man smiled as they gathered in front of him.

All eyes immediately turned to Hermione.

“We were hoping that we could see Harry, Harry Potter,” she said.

The old man blinked at her. “I’m sorry, miss, I’ve never heard of a Harry Potter. Are you sure that you’ve got the right place?”

“I saw him here at Christmas!” Colin blurted.

“I won’t say you’re wrong, young man, but, owning this pub for the last sixty odd years means that I know everyone that lives hereabouts and I’m sorry, but there haven’t been any Potters here that I can recall,” the old man replied gently.

“Perhaps we should sit down and talk about this,” Dan suggested.

“Could we get a couple of glasses of orange juice,” Emma began before eyeing the teens before her and taking a deep breath, “and four jugs of coke?”

“Sure thing,” the man smiled. “Would you like anything to eat at all?”

“A couple of baskets of chips,” Dan replied after perusing the board on the wall.

“Take a seat, I’ll get them right out to you.”

Slowly the group wandered off to the right of the bar where there were a dozen or so tables set out for meals. Seeing that only a half dozen could sit around each table, the twins took it upon themselves to do a bit of redecorating.

“Are you sure that this is the right place?” Emma asked once they were all seated.

“Positive, Mum,” Hermione replied. “Colin’s been here and he even took a photo of Harry standing in front of it.”

“Could we see it?” Dan asked.

“Um, no, we burnt the photos and the negatives,” Hermione replied.

“Probably a good idea,” Dan replied.

While they were talking, they failed to notice their waiter approaching with a tray filled with jugs and glasses.

“Who ordered the orange juice?”

Hermione looked up across the table as her parents raised their hands. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the sight of the green-eyed young man with glasses and messy black hair standing just behind Lil and Luna.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed as she rocketed out of her chair.


	24. Chapter 24

“Harry!”

Harry’s eyes shot up from the overladen tray that he’d been trying to keep balanced. His eyes were wide. No one here should know that name. His heart pounded in his chest even as sweat burst out on his forehead, on the palms of his hands and began to dribble down his back.

He took an involuntary step backwards, away from the dozen or so people seated around the combined tables. One girl with remarkably familiar bushy hair was already on the move, speeding around the end of the table towards him causing his panic to rise and the feeling of needing to flee to increase.

Seconds before the girl impacted with him, he felt the tray being jerked out of his hands.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” the girl cried as she flung her arms around him, squeezing the life out of him as only one other had ever done to him before.

“Hermione?” he breathed in wonderment.

At her nod, his arms automatically came up to wrap around her. A scent of jasmine hit his nose as he buried it in her hair and he felt himself smile. Wetness formed on his cheeks as he realised that for the first time in over seven months, he was back with his best friend.

Lifting his eyes, Harry took in the crowd of people clustering around. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, with their dominant red hair and wide grins were the first that he recognised. Beside them was Neville, flanked by Susan and Hannah. Still coming around from the other side of the table, were Lil, Luna, Colin and Fiona.

“Come on, Hermione, we all want a turn,” Daphne stated, beginning to pull at her friend’s shoulders.

Ever so reluctantly, Hermione let him go, looking up at him with a huge smile on her face, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Immediately, her place was taken by Daphne on one side and Tracey on the other.

“Is this where’ve you been, mate?” Neville asked as he slapped him on the back.

“How are you, Harry?” a taller version of Hermione who Harry recognised as Mrs Granger asked, taking her turn at giving him a hug.

“Harrykins!” Fred and George chorused when it was finally their turn to greet him before they threw their arms around him and danced him in a circle.

“Let me go, you red-headed menaces,” Harry laughed.

No sooner had they done so then Hermione was back for a second hug.

“How’d you find me?” Harry spluttered, looking over the top of Hermione’s head. “Who else knows I’m here?”

“Don’t worry, Harry, we’re the only ones that know you’re here,” Lil reassured him.

“Yeah, we had a plan,” Fred and George grinned.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Harry mocked.

“You wound us, Harrykins,” Fred said, an expression of pain on his face, one hand over his heart.

“Expect a serious pranking for that sort of comment,” George grinned.

“But how did you find me?” Harry asked again.

“That was me,” Colin piped up. “I saw you over the Christmas break when my family came here on tour.”

Harry stared at the mousey-haired boy nearly bouncing in front of him. “Then why didn’t you say something then?”

“Couldn’t,” he replied. “Didn’t see you until I was already on the bus and it was leaving. I took your photo though, to prove that I’d seen you.”

The alarmed expression on his face must have given his thoughts away about that idea, as Neville immediately set out to calm him down.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we burnt them. And the negatives.”

At his nod, Hermione let him go and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Do you know how worried we’ve all been about you?”

Before he could answer, the group was interrupted by a voice from behind.

“Hadrian? I take it you know these people?”

Harry spun around, noting the twins mouthing ‘Hadrian’ at each other.

“Yeah, Angus,” he grinned. “These are some of my friends from my old school.”

“Thought you lot were looking for a ‘Harry Potter’? If’n you’d told me you were after Hadrian, here, I would have got him out of the kitchen sooner for you,” Angus said.

Harry found himself thinking fast. “Well, Harry’s my nickname. It’s what they’ve always called me and … and they didn’t know that my mum remarried so that I’m an Evans now and not a Potter.”

A dozen pairs of eyes were nearly popping out around him and only a couple of well-placed elbows from the twins, who seemed to instinctively realise when a story was being spun, closed the mouths opening to question him.

“Up to surprise ya, then, are they?” Angus chuckled.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry replied.

“Well, I’d say that we can get by without you for the day,” Angus said. “Go, have fun with your friends.”

“Thanks, Angus,” Harry said, before a thought occurred. “I’ll make sure to be back in time for the gig tonight, though.”

“If you’re sure,” Angus replied. “But if your friends are still here, don’t fuss about it. I’ve been playing by meself for long enough that one extra night won’t hurt.”

Then, after depositing the baskets of chips that had been ordered onto the table, Angus made his way back to the bar.

“Hadrian?” Tracey asked as soon as Angus was out of hearing, giving voice to the question that Harry was sure was on everyone’s lips.

Glancing around the pub nervously, Harry took in the few patrons on the far side of the room and the door that stood open, welcoming any passers-by in.

“I know you’ve probably all got a lot of questions and probably even more after meeting Angus, but could we hold off on them until we get somewhere a bit more private?” he asked.

“That sounds fine, ‘Hadrian’,” Dan agreed.

“How about we all sit back down and eat and drink and then we’ll go wherever it is that Harry wants to take us,” Emma agreed.

-oOoOo-

Dan Granger pulled the mini bus to a stop where the small dirt lane ended, just as Harry had instructed. Through the windscreen, all that he could see was the start of what looked to be a small uninhabited valley. There were no buildings to be seen, not even the meanest of huts. If this was where Harry was staying, he had no idea how the boy had been able to stay hidden, let alone survive.

“Are you positive that you weren’t followed and that no one knows where you are?” Harry asked for what must have the fifth or sixth time since they’d found him.

“We’ve already told you, Harry,” Hermione said in a tone that told Dan that Harry’s continual questioning was starting to annoy her, “we took precautions. No one even knows that we’ve left Hogsmeade.”

“And we checked everyone over for tracking charms again last night _and_ while we were on the Knight Bus this morning,” George agreed.

“And everyone came up clean,” Fred stated.

“Alright, then,” Harry said. “Give me a couple of minutes then I’ll take you to my home.”

Dan turned around in his seat to look at the boy. He’d grown a couple of inches since June last year and had filled out in a way that the father in him didn’t like. There was also a sense of more certainty emanating from Harry. But then, he supposed that that was to be expected. Having to live alone, always being conscious of your security, was bound to enhance one’s independence.

“Dobby!” Harry called.

A slight _crack_ broke the near silence of the bus as a small … something … appeared. Whatever it was, was only about three feet high, but with a large head and enormous bat-light ears. Its eyes were the size of tennis-balls and vivid green in colour. But it was its clothes that really froze Dan into silence. It wore a tiny pair of cargo pants and a sleeveless shirt that both seemed to be more pockets than actual material. And the worst part was that each and every pocket was a different colour and colours that, even to his male sense of style, clashed horribly with each other.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir?” the thing, Dobby, asked, before its eyes widened even further as he stared around the bus at the dozen people staring at him.

“Could you pop me and my bike home to the manor, please?” Harry asked.

“Of course, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied, before grabbing hold of Harry’s hand, raising his other hand and snapping his fingers.

The _crack_ of Harry, his bike and Dobby disappearing had the dual effect of also releasing Dan from whatever spell he’d been under.

“What was that?” he managed to croak.

“That was a house elf, Mister Granger,” Daphne told him, as though that explained everything.

“I didn’t know that Harry had a house elf,” Luna remarked casually as she studied the view out of the window.

“No, neither did I,” Hermione frowned.

“I think that there’s a lot that we don’t know,” Neville pointed out.

Before anyone could reply, Harry and Dobby _cracked_ back into the bus.

“Okay, if everyone could pass around this note,” Harry said before giving a piece of paper to Tracey who he’d ended up closest to. “Once you’ve all seen it, we’ll get going. I’ve adjusted the wards as well. I’ve made it only a one-time thing, though, for now.”

Taking the paper from his wife, Dan looked down to read:

_Potter Haven can be found at the end of Clempshaw Lane._

“Okay, Mister Granger, just start driving forward,” Harry told him a couple of minutes later.

Dubiously, Dan set the mini bus into motion. The end of the dirt road wasn’t that far ahead.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” Dan asked.

“Trust me,” he replied and Dan could hear the smile in his voice.

As the bus left the end of the dirt track, Dan felt a tingling sensation wash over his skin and then his eyes widened in disbelief. He tried closing his eyes and opening them. And then shaking his head, only for the new view to stay fixed before him.

The dirt lane had transformed into a wide cobblestone drive that led down the hillside to a blue and white stone mansion. It was incredibly beautiful with the bluestone marking the base of the three-story building and accenting the door and windows. The sun gleamed off of the pure white sandstone that made up the rest of the elegant design before the whole thing was capped off with a slate roof.

“It’s gorgeous, Harry!” Hermione stated, a sentiment echoed all over the bus.

“Thanks, guys. Welcome to Potter Haven,” Harry replied.

-oOoOo-

“So, I’m guessing that you guys want a tour,” Harry beamed at the assembled crowd in front of him. “Would you rather do that first or shall we get questions out of the way first?”

“Tour! Now!” Daphne demanded.

“Yep, we want to see these digs of yours, young Harrykins,” Fred agreed.

“As much as I want answers, Harry, I have to agree with them,” Hermione concurred.

“Righto, then, step this way,” Harry said, before leading the way up the stairs to the porch and the front doors.

“Wow!” Hannah gasped from right behind him as he led them into the entry hall.

“And this is yours, Harry?” Susan asked.

“Did this once belong to your parents?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Harry replied, as he turned to face them, walking backwards into the marble floored room and stopping between the great curved staircases.

“I arranged with the goblins to help me buy it and get it all done up before second year after that hearing. Somehow, I figured that I’d end up needing someplace like this before I finished Hogwarts and Slipshard found this nice little loophole for me in the Potter by-laws,” he explained.

“Loophole?” Daphne asked. “I thought the goblins were sticklers for the rules.”

“Unless it means more gold for them,” George pointed out.

“Exactly,” Harry nodded. “Potter Haven’s set up to allow me to study almost as well as I could at Hogwarts. The only downside has been that it’s just been me and Dobby.”

“What about the underage magic laws?” Susan asked.

“Let’s just say that the goblins helped me get around that as well and leave it at that, huh, Susan. I wouldn’t want you to have to lie to your aunt,” Harry grinned.

Seeing all of the impressed looks on the faces around him at just seeing the entry hall, Harry was looking to showing off the rest of the manor. And then the valley. Neville, he knew, was going to _love_ the greenhouses.

“Come on, this way,” Harry said.

Deciding to leave the library for last, where he suspected that one or two of his guests might get lost and make answering questions easier, he led the group around the ground floor.

They marvelled at the formal dining room and the large kitchen where Dobby was busily preparing lunch. They made a brief tour of the basement where Harry had to make sure to keep Colin and the twins away from the weapons hanging on the wall. He trooped them through the small dining room and then into the receiving room.

“Are you connected to the floo?” Lil asked, eyeing the great fireplace.

“Potter Haven has the potential to be connected, but it’s not hooked up at the moment,” Harry replied.

From there, he led them back into the entry hall before they went through the front sitting room and then, with a deep breath and a momentary dramatic pause, he opened the oak door.

“And this is the library,” he stated.

Twin squeals of joy erupted from Hermione and Daphne before they, accompanied by Luna, pushed their way into the room. Harry watched the trio spin around in wonder; taking in the row upon row of bookshelves lining the walls, the smaller cases set in the middle of the large room and then followed their eyes as they traced the path up the spiral staircase in the corner to the mezzanine level with even more bookshelves waiting to be explored.

“You have your own library! And didn’t tell me!” Hermione accused, slapping his arm.

Ignoring her as she rushed off to examine the nearest shelves, Harry turned to the others. “I’ve got books on every subject covered at Hogwarts. Plus every subject that Hogwarts _used_ to teach as well.”

“Well that explains how you’ve been getting such good marks in your Transfiguration, Charms and DADA homework,” Neville remarked.

“What’s this, Harry?” Fiona asked pointing to a piece of parchment stuck to the centre of the table on one side of the room.

Harry wandered over closer before replying. “That’s a copy of my timetable. I’ve got them posted all over the manor to help keep me on track. I’m sure I’d slack off or something without the constant reminders.”

“You’re studying all of these subjects?” she asked in disbelief. “Beginning Healing? Enchanting? _Animagus studies_?”

Harry shrugged. “When you’re by yourself, you’ve got to find some way to keep yourself occupied. Besides, I’m able to study at my own pace.”

Emma had wandered over in the middle of the conversation to peer at his timetable.

“And how do you think you’ve been going, studying on your own?” she asked.

“Alright, I guess. Some things are harder, but, for the most part, I’d say that I’m staying at the same pace as everyone at Hogwarts. Being able to write to Professors McGonagall, Lupin and Flitwick has really helped. But I’m ahead in Muggle Studies and History of Magic. I’ve already finished fourth year with both of them,” he finished proudly.

“What? You’re already a year ahead? How is that possible?” Lil spluttered.

“I’m muggle-raised,” Harry shrugged, “which makes Muggle Studies a breeze. And without having to listen to Binns drone on, History’s actually easy to study.”

“All of the Ravenclaws study History on their own,” Luna commented. “That’s how we always get the best marks.”

“Mum, Dad, I’m staying here,” Hermione called down from the upper level a few minutes later. “Just write to Hogwarts and tell them that I quit.”

“Should we keep going and just leave them here?” Harry asked, indicating Hermione, Daphne, Hannah and Susan who all had their heads buried in books.

“We’re moving on, kids,” Dan called.

Harry led everyone, including the girls vowing to return to the library before they left, to the spacious glass-walled room dedicated to the arts.

“Do you play these, Harry?” Tracey asked as she plucked a string of one of the lutes.

“Nah, the goblins included these because Hogwarts once had an arts program,” Harry replied, glad that his saxophone was currently upstairs in his room meaning that he didn’t have to lie to her.

“What a lovely view,” Luna smiled from where she stood behind one of the easels. “I can see why they included the painting materials.”

“That’s it for the ground floor,” Harry said. “On the next floor are the ten bedrooms, with the six classrooms, storage room and potions lab above that and, in the ceiling, is my telescope for astronomy. The roof is charmed to open so that I can see out without the weather coming in.”

“Are those greenhouses?” Neville eagerly asked, pointing to the twin glass buildings visible from where he stood.

“Yep. Did you want to check them out next?” Harry asked.

At Neville’s enthusiastic nod, Harry led the group outside and down the path.

“It looks like you’ve really taken advantage of being able to learn lots of different subjects,” Emma commented as they walked.

“You know that that isn’t really fair, Harry,” Hermione stated, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Hogwarts doesn’t offer those subjects anymore – a decision that I think is ridiculous. Perhaps we should all transfer here to Harry’s School and learn them with you.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma and Dan share a look that he couldn’t comprehend.

“Look, Hermione,” he said, stopping to face her, the others gathering around to hear what he had to say. “You’ve got no idea how much I’d love to be with you, with all of you, studying and playing quidditch or flying or just doing regular things. Whether it was at Hogwarts or even here, I’d love that. But that’s just not possible.

“You all know that I’ve got a bunch of charges hanging over my head. If the Ministry ever find me, I’ll be arrested and at the very least, thrown into a DMLE holding cell. The only way for me to avoid that is to stay hidden until my trial. I simply _have_ to stay hidden for another seven weeks or so. It’s the only way.

“And as great as it is seeing you guys, there’s a large part of me in a state of panic at the moment. You’ve told me that you weren’t followed, that no one knows where you are, that there aren’t any tracking charms on you. And I really, really wish that I could believe that, but I just can’t take that chance.

“Seeing you all today has been amazing but to have even one more of you stay with me would only increase my chances of being found. And that chance would go up exponentially with every other person that stayed.

“If things work out the way that Mister Tentridge tells me he thinks that they are going to, then I’d love to have you all stay with me after that, but that’s something to work out after my trial, not before. Can you understand that?”

“We get that, Harry, really we do,” Hermione said, laying a hand on his arm, “and we know how important that it is for you to stay hidden. That’s why the twins came up with the plan that they did. But none of us had seen you since the end of last June and we’ve all been worrying about you and we needed to see you for ourselves so that we knew that you were alright.”

“None of us are going to betray you, Harry,” Fred stated.

“We’ll keep your secrets, Harry,” Tracey agreed.

“Yeah, we’re with you, mate,” said Neville.

“Thanks, guys,” Harry replied. “And, for the record, I never thought that you would tell anyone where I was. It’s just that I know how easily things can go wrong when you’re least expecting it.”

-oOoOo-

“Well at least we now know how you got those photos,” Tracey commented as she softly stroked the diricawl squatted on the ground before her.

“Yeah, we thought that you were travelling the world or something,” Fiona agreed.

“Ha, no, Dobby’s been doing some travelling, collecting plants and animals for me,” Harry explained. “Of course, I’ve got to be careful with what he brings back. He once wanted me to add a dragon to the enclosure! Could you imagine the disaster that would have been?”

“Hey! Let go!” Hannah’s shrill voice echoed around the dome.

Harry looked across to see her playing tug-of-war with one of the nifflers. Its long black shout was firmly attached to her silver bracelet on her wrist. Seeing both Susan and Emma rushing to her rescue, Harry stayed where he was, grinning at the sight as Hannah stood up, the niffler now hanging in mid-air by its snout.

“Harry?”

“Hey, Lil, what’s up?” he asked.

As she knelt down beside him, Lil pulled out a crumpled envelope from the back pocket of her jeans.

“My dad asked me to give this to you the next time I saw you,” she explained. “And before you ask, no, I’ve got no idea what it’s about.”

Harry looked curiously at the envelope, noting the seal of the Ancient House of Moon in the wax sealing at its back.

“Is it alright if I open it later?”

“Sure, Harry. My dad doesn’t know that I was going to see you today, and he won’t either, until after your trial next month,” she replied.

With a nod, Harry called Dobby to put the envelope away safely on the desk in his room where it wouldn’t get lost.

-oOoOo-

“You will write, won’t you?” Hermione whispered into Harry’s ear as she hugged him goodbye later that afternoon.

“You know I will, Hermione,” he replied. “And I want to hear from you tonight to know that you all got back to the castle safely without anyone knowing that you’d been away.”

“Of course,” she promised.

“Come on, Hermione,” Emma called, “we’re running out of time.”

After one last squeeze, she let go and rushed onto the mini bus where everyone was waiting for her.

“Bye!”

“See ya, Harry!”

“Bye, Harry!”

“See you at the end of next month!”

Hermione watched as he waved them goodbye, maintaining his place in front of the manor until the bus cleared the top of the hill.

From there, it was a fairly subdued ride back to Kelso where the elder Grangers were thanked and farewelled before the Knight Bus was once more called for. They disembarked near the Shrieking Shack where Fred and George led them to a particular tree where they disillusioned a bunch of shopping bags before taking Luna and Colin and disappearing into the trees.

-oOoOo-

_BANG!_

A flash of purple accompanied by the enormous explosion spun Draco around, but whatever had made it had already disappeared.

The only thing that he could see in that particular direction was a laughing gaggle of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, with three blood-traitor Slytherins in their midst, sauntering down the road from the Shrieking Shack, shopping bags in hand.

With a scowl, he turned away. It wasn’t worth insulting so many at once, especially that group.

Although, now that he came to think about it, he did find it interesting that he hadn’t been able to find any of them around Hogsmeade that day. He’d assumed that they’d stayed in the castle, but apparently, he’d been wrong. How they’d managed to do so much shopping unseen was something to ponder and perhaps something to write to his Father about.


	25. Chapter 25

As had become common, a group of multi-House students were seated together for lunch in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Generally, there was a minimum of a dozen of them, although Albus had once counted twenty, all laughing and joking and involved in wild discussions with much gesturing and hilarity. And every House was present, even Slytherin.

This group, though, had done more to break through decades of rivalry than anything seen in Hogwarts for more years than the Headmaster could count. Nearly at every new meal, House divides were being broken down as more and more students felt comfortable leaving their House table to eat with their friends in other Houses. No longer were there tables of black robes trimmed with red, blue, yellow and green all seated separately, but instead, a multi-coloured assortment filled every table – even Slytherin on the odd occasion.

And it wasn’t just the students who felt the change. Not once this year had Albus seen Severus approach, let alone reprimand, one of his precious snakes for associating with ‘out-House filth’. No, the usually stern teacher couldn’t even be counted upon to uphold the rivalry that Albus counted on from him. Minerva, Filius and Pomona, were, as expected, delighted to see their charges mixing and getting on so well with others, obvious by the broad smiles that adorned their faces at every meal.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, knew exactly where this change had come from. And the most annoying part of it all was the fact that the blasted boy wasn’t even _in_ the castle to encourage it any more. No, Harry Potter had disappeared from the face of the Earth, leaving behind his friends to carry on in his stead, a task that they seemed to relish in.

A brief scowl crossed Dumbledore’s face at the very thought of Harry Potter. He’d lost track of the boy over eight months ago. Every one of his tracking and monitoring charms had been nullified and, if the rumours that he’d heard were accurate, they wouldn’t have worked any more anyway, not with the boy somewhere out of the country.

If he’d had his way, he would have spent the last eight months tracking him down, obliviating the independence out of the boy and legitimacing the sense back into him. But, unfortunately, his hands had been tied. The only way that he’d been able to keep his position as Headmaster, the very position that he cherished above all others, was to stay put in the castle. At least from here he still had the opportunity to influence another generation of witches and wizards to his way of thinking.

At any other time in his life, Albus knew that it would have been nothing to take a brief leave of absence to pursue what was needful for the Greater Good, in this case, Harry-blasted-Potter, but with a Board appointed Observer watching his every move, that wasn’t something that he could do.

From the corner of his eye, Albus ‘observed’ Stephen Connington, barely suppressing his grimace of distaste in the process. The man had been insufferable. Every decision of Albus’ had been questioned by the younger man, not to mention the countless ‘discussions’ detailing his reasoning behind past decisions as well.

But it had all been to the good. His year-long probation was fast coming to an end and then he’d be rid of the annoying man and be free to find ways to return Mister Potter to his influence once more.

Lifting his glass of pumpkin juice, Albus’ eyes swept the hall before him and, as tended to be the case, came to rest on the group of twelve students at the end of, today, the Hufflepuff table. There was something, though, that seemed a little … off … with the group, some inexplicable … something … that radiated from them.

All sported massive grins and their laughter, when it wafted its way to the Head Table, seemed lighter, more care-free. He watched as Miss Abbot seemed to retell a story, acting as though something was pulling at her wrist, eliciting gales of laughter from her companions. It was the first time since school had started in September that he’d seen the group so … unburdened and he wondered what had caused the difference.

These twelve, he knew, were the closest to Mister Potter and if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear that they’d been in contact with him. But, of course, he knew that that couldn’t be the case.

They were all stuck in the castle with no way for communications, in or out of the castle that he didn’t know about. And know about them he did – he’d even assigned an elf to read all correspondence to and from the children and to let him know if any particular words or phrases were used, of which there had been none.

For now, all he could do was to continue to monitor them and bide his time. Soon Potter would be forced back into Britain and into his role as saviour and ultimately as martyr for the wizarding world and the Greater Good.

And once he reappeared, Albus vowed to be ready.

-oOoOo-

Leaning back in the black leather chair of his study at Malfoy Manor, Lucius pondered the latest correspondence from his son. Tapping the parchment against his chin, he recalled every word that Draco had written, pulling them apart, putting them back together and searching for the tiniest scrap of usefulness amongst them.

There was something, he was sure of it.

_I lost track of the mudblood and the blood-traitors in Hogsmeade, Father, but, even though I didn’t see them, it was obvious that they’d spent the day in the village – the number of bags that they clutched on their way back to the castle attested to that._

_Really, it must have been the Malfoy luck that let me finally find them, Father. I was near the path that leads to the Shrieking Shack when I heard a sudden noise and thought I saw something purplish that made me turn around and there they all were._

_Of course, as you instructed, I followed them after that, never letting them out of my sight for the rest of the day …_

Yes, Lucius was certain that there was something there. Flicking the parchment out, he reread the sentences that Draco had written.

_A sudden noise … something purplish_.

As far as he was aware, there was only one thing in the wizarding world that could answer to that description, not that he himself had ever availed himself of its use – that was for the common folk and mudbloods to use.

Casting the letter aside, Lucius pushed himself out of his chair. _This_ bore looking into.

-oOoOo-

“Lord Malfoy! What an honour, sir. What can I do for you today?”

Lucius peered down his nose at the man genuflecting before him. He’d introduced himself as Ronan or something, not that Lucius had any intention of remembering such a common individual. He was middle-aged and wore a dirty brown coverall in place of respectable robes. With a blink, he dismissed the man’s abhorrent appearance in favour of finding the information that he needed.

“I am looking for some information about a transportation service the Knight Bus provided on Saturday last,” Lucius intoned.

“It’s … it’s not normally company policy to … to let people outside the company see our … our records, my Lord,” the man stammered.

“Of course, of course,” Lucius murmured, “a wise policy that your company keeps. You wouldn’t want a rival business to start up and begin to exploit the dominant role that the Knight Bus has exclusively held for such a long time, now, would you?”

The man’s eyes widened as the implied threat hung over his head, prompting an inward smile to grow in Lucius’ mind. No one had ever bothered trying to replicate the Knight Bus’ success, but that didn’t mean that there hadn’t been murmurings over the years that someone had had the notion.

“Well, seeing as how it’s you, Lord Malfoy, I’m sure that I can bend the rules a bit,” the man simpered.

With a gesture from Lucius’ cane, the man scurried off, Lucius trailing in his wake.

He was led to the dingiest office that he’d ever seen. Piles of parchment were stacked on every surface available, including the seats. Pausing in the doorway, Lucius watched as the man searched the desk before pulling one particular scroll towards him.

“Saturday last, was what you said, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Lucius replied, bowing his head ever so slightly as he took the scroll.

Pulling it open, he scanned its contents. It seemed to be divided into five columns: time; place of embarking; amount charged; place of disembarking; and the time once again.

“This doesn’t say who the passengers were,” Lucius remarked.

“No, my Lord, we’ve never bothered with that,” the man replied nervously. “We’ve always prided ourselves on giving our passengers their privacy. We only keep that much so that we know how far the bus has travelled for when it needs a check-up.”

Lucius ignored the man’s excuses, favouring scanning down the scroll instead. And then he found it: Hogsmeade. Reading across, he noted that the passenger, whoever it or they were, disembarked at Kelso, The Borders, Scotland. Further down the page, he found the trip in reverse. Obviously, whoever had used the bus had travelled in both directions. On a Hogwarts Hogsmeade weekend.

-oOoOo-

“Lucius, my old friend, come in, come in,” Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic greeted warmly. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Some tea, if you would, Cornelius,” Lucius replied, sinking into the chair across from the Minister’s desk.

After calling for the tea from his secretary, Cornelius bustled around his desk.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Cornelius asked.

Lucius paused as a silver tray bearing a pot of tea and three cups was levitated into the room by the Minister’s Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge. After taking a sip from the cup that had been handed to him, Lucius placed the cup on its saucer and looked across at the man across the desk, an eager expression of helpfulness on his round face.

“I believe that I may have a snippet of information that will lead us to Potter,” Lucius announced.

Both Cornelius and Delores’ faces lit up.

“You do? Tell us everything,” Cornelius encouraged, sliding forward on his chair to lean across his desk.

“I received a letter from my son, Draco, which mentioned that some of Potter’s friends disappeared for a time on their Hogsmeade weekend. Draco was only able to find them again after seeing the Knight Bus.”

“Really? And you believe that these children left the village to visit the boy?” Cornelius asked.

“ _Hem hem._ Excuse me, Lucius, but it was my understanding that Potter was out of the country,” Delores interrupted.

“You are correct, Delores,” Lucius stated, bowing his head in acknowledgement, “however, none of your men could find any evidence that the boy had even left the country. And with the behaviour of these _children_ , I now believe that Potter is much closer than we realised.”

“The Knight Bus, you say?” Cornelius clarified. “I’ll have Dawlish look into it.”

“No need, Cornelius,” Lucius waved the idea away, “I’ve already done that personally.”

“And?” Cornelius asked eagerly.

“I examined the records from the day and found that the Knight Bus had indeed picked up one or more passengers from Hogsmeade and delivered them to the town of Kelso before making the return journey some hours later. Unfortunately, no names were recorded,” Lucius reported.

“Kelso? Delores, if you would?” Cornelius asked.

Immediately, the squat woman hopped off of her chair before disappearing out the door.

“Are you sure about this, Lucius?” Cornelius asked as they waited for the Undersecretary to return.

“Of course. It’s the best lead that we’ve had in months,” Lucius stated coldly.

“Yes, yes,” Cornelius simpered, “it’s only that the last lead that young Draco passed along led us on a wild goose chase around the world and cost us a lot more galleons than I expected.”

Lucius waved a casual hand. “I’m certain that once Potter has been found and brought to justice, a donation will be made that will amply cover any costs incurred by the Ministry in its pursuit of justice.”

Cornelius’ sigh of relief was barely covered by the return of Delores.

“Well?” Cornelius asked after she had retaken her seat.

“I’ve checked the Ministry’s records for the area within fifty miles of Kelso,” Delores’ high girly voice reported. “There have been no recorded magical dwellings within that area in the past fifty years. And according to the Big Board, there have been no reports of magical occurrences within that same area in the last five years.”

“With no evidence of magic or magicals in the area, and only young Draco’s report to go on, which you yourself must admit is dubious at best, I’m afraid that there’s nothing for us to go on,” Cornelius apologised.

Lucius stared at the man. “You intend on doing nothing with this?”

“I’ll send Daniels to take a look,” Cornelius allowed, “but to be honest, I don’t expect him to find anything.”

Abruptly, Lucius stood. It seemed that the Minister wanted to shirk his duty.

“Thank you for your time, Minister. I’ll show myself out.”

-oOoOo-

Stepping off of the violently purple bus, Lucius swore to never again darken its doorstep. Even if he had to imperio someone to side-along apparate him, it’d be better than the violently dangerous movements that that monstrosity called ‘normal’ driving.

Unfortunately, the one drawback to apparition was that one had to have been to a certain place before one could apparate to it and, as he’d never been to Kelso before, nor knew anyone who had been, he’d been forced to come the _common_ way. And portkeys were similar in their usage as well.

Tapping his cane on the sidewalk, he looked around the small square of green where he had been deposited. A smattering of shops and houses, all so obviously … muggle, bordered the square on all sides. One advertised fruits and vegetables for sale, another appeared to be a bakery and another was a post office without a single owl in sight.

Stepping behind a convenient tree, Lucius pulled his wand free from his cane. With a deliberate wave in a circle above his head, he cast a wide area spell, specifically designed to detect magic. With an extra flick, he examined the runes that appeared in red in front of his face. Nothing. As far as he could tell, there had been no magic anywhere within the area … ever.

With a scowl, Lucius snapped his wand back into its holster before he turned and _cracked_ away to Malfoy Manor.


	26. Chapter 26

_Dear Harry,_

_It was so wonderful to see you on Saturday – you’ve no idea how relieved I, I mean, **we** , all were to see you and to know that you’re all right. Yes, we’ve been sending letters backwards and forwards, not to mention this wonderful journal, but it’s not the same, you know?_

_Everyone’s been keeping an ‘ear to the ground’ and we’re all positive that the twin’s plan worked beautifully. No one realised that we had even left Hogsmeade, especially when we all turned back up at the castle with all of our shopping that Lee, Katie, Alicia and Angelina did for us._

_And there was nothing in the_ Prophet _saying that the Ministry realised anything either – not that there_ was _anything for them to realise – we didn’t use any magic and even if they’d been able to follow the_ Knight Bus _, the twins plan of having Mum and Dad pick us up a half hour drive away from you would have completely thrown them off the scent._

_I know that that ridiculous trial is coming ever closer and I was wondering what you planned to do after they clear your name, which any sane person should realise is what is going to happen. Are you going to come back to Hogwarts? I did try to ask you when we were at Potter Haven, but you never gave me an answer._

_As much as I hope that you do, I’d understand if you didn’t – it’ll be close to the end of term and with that library that you’ve got there (and don’t think for one minute that I’ve forgiven you yet for not telling me about it sooner, Mister!) it does make sense if you finish off the school year the way that you’ve been doing it._

_If you do decide to stay away, we’ll all miss you terribly, but maybe you could come visit us on Hogsmeade weekends? We could meet up in the_ Three Broomsticks _– it’s a nice little pub/restaurant place that we generally all hang out in after finishing our shopping is done._

_Speaking of Hogsmeade weekends, there is one more planned between now and your trial at the end of March. It’s set for the nineteenth of March. We were wondering how you’d feel about another visit? At least think about it, Harry. We, I, would love to see you again, soon, hopefully as much as you’d like to see us._

_Best be off, it’s Potions first thing this morning and I wouldn’t want to be late for Professor Snape._

_Love, Hermione._

With a soft smile, Harry closed the journal and placed it onto the desk.

Running his hand across its soft brown cover, he thought about what Hermione had written. Yes, it’d been great seeing all of his friends – a big shock, of course, but great nonetheless. And it was amazing that they hadn’t been caught or led anyone to him. But then, it was pretty rare that one of Fred and George’s plans _didn’t_ work. But the idea of them coming to Potter Haven again? That he just wasn’t sure of.

Later, he’d promise Hermione that he’d think about it. And he would, too. But whether or not he’d actually agree with it or not, _that_ he couldn’t say. At the moment he was leaning towards no, but his heart was waging a pitched war with his head – it’d been so wonderful to see them all again.

With a soft sigh, he shook his head and shifted his eyes from the journal to the letter that was still waiting for him where Dobby had placed it last Saturday as he’d asked him to.

This was the letter that Lil had given to him, the one that she’d been given to pass on from her father. Picking up the envelope, Harry felt the rich parchment before turning it over to find a seal embossed into the silver wax sealing the envelope closed. Bringing it closer to his eyes, he examined the seal curiously. Inside the shield was a crescent moon superimposed over crossed wands emitting sparks.

Deliberately, Harry cracked the seal, opened the envelope and took out the thick piece of parchment inside.

_To Scion Potter,_

_Although we have not yet been formally introduced, I feel that I have come to know you well through the schoolyard tales that have been passed on to me by my daughter, Lil._

_She has informed me of the kind of man that you are becoming: kind, honourable and steadfast in loyalty to your friends. She has regaled myself and my wife with your ‘adventures’ since your return to the wizarding world and how you have always striven to do right by those around you, even to the point of placing your own life in danger to save others. And she has kindly informed me that the two of you have become friends._

_Thusly, after hearing of your virtues, it came as no surprise when I was informed of the Trust Fund that you set up for my Lil, in conjunction with others who suffered at the ‘hands’ of the basilisk that you slayed in defence of Hogwarts and her students and teachers. This was an incredibly noble deed, one which you had no obligation to pursue._

_And for this, I humbly thank you. I thank you for the friendship that you have shown my daughter and for your willingness to protect her and look out for her interests._

_As the Head of the Ancient House of Moon, it seemed only right and proper that I acknowledge and respond to your friendship and deeds. My first inclination, I must admit, was to offer a betrothal contract between yourself and my daughter, however, after talking with my daughter and learning some more about you, I realised that that would not have been accepted by yourself._

_Instead, I would like to formally extend an offer of Alliance of Friendship and Support between the Ancient House of Moon and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter._

_Knowing your circumstances at present, there is no time-limit on this offer or stipulations of any kind. This is simply one House extending its hand to another. I hope that the friendship that has already begun between my daughter and yourself can be widened to encompass our two Houses in their entirety._

_Warmest regards,_

_Horatio Moon_

_Head of the Ancient House of Moon._

Harry’s eyes bugged at the letter. An Alliance of Friendship and Support. Just by the formal wording, he knew that that was obviously a big deal. What it actually meant in practise, though, he had no idea. Hopefully one of the books on wizarding customs in the library would be able to tell him more.

His first inclination was to accept. Lil was a really nice girl – she was funny and smart, if a bit shy at times and, if her parents were anything like her, then he thought that he could get on well with them. At least the idea of the betrothal contract had been nixed. Mind you, he guessed that he should have expected that. Neville and Daphne had already told him that once he got a bit older that he’d likely be inundated with them, considering his fame as the Boy-Who-Lived, not to mention the whole ‘being the last of an Ancient House’ deal.

Reaching out, Harry picked up a pen and a sheet of paper before lying them carefully back down. No, it wouldn’t do to respond right now. No one knew that Lil had seen him and by replying to the letter, he’d only be giving that information away. No, a response could wait. And besides, it’d give him time to check the library to find out more about alliances between Houses.

His next order of business looked to be time consuming but incredibly necessary. He’d been corresponding backwards and forwards with Julius Tentridge, the solicitor that Sirius had arranged for him, about his trial defence.

According to Julius, he didn’t expect any difficulty with the charges that had arisen from what had happened at King’s Cross, especially after Dumbledore had been raked over the coals as the main instigator. Instead, they were concentrating on his defence of the truancy charge.

To that end, there were a few things that Julius had requested to help him prepare, namely, a copy of the timetable that he was studying under, which included all of the subjects that he was learning; a list of all of the books that he’d been using to further his education; and copies of all of the assignments that he’d sent to his Hogwarts teachers, together with the marks and comments that they’d given him. Even additional correspondence, like the letter that Professor McGonagall had sent him about magical intent, had been requested.

Thankfully, Harry had kept everything. It was only a matter of finding it all, duplicating it, boxing it up and having Dobby deliver it for him. With his task decided, Harry set off to search the manor.

-oOoOo-

Harry’s hand hovered over the two books that he was currently focused on. Neither of them had anything to do with wizarding House alliances, but for some reason, these two had been filed right beside them.

What had particularly caught his attention was their topic: wizarding communication methods. And that was something that he knew that he could learn something more about. At the moment, the only options that Harry had to communicate with the outside world were his Goblin Postal Service box and having Dobby pop letters and packages to people.

Oh, there was also the journal that he shared with Hermione, but that wasn’t exactly an easy method – each one took weeks to create. Once they were created, though, they were probably one of the best communications devices around. But he couldn’t really give one to every one of his friends.

If there was a different way of communicating with others that was also secure, then, as far as Harry was concerned, that was worth looking into and learning about. He may only have six weeks left of his self-imposed exile, but that was still six weeks in which to communicate safely and discretely with those he loved.

Picking the thicker of the two volumes off of the shelf, Harry allowed it to flop open and flicked it to the table of contents.

  * FLOO Network
  * Owl Post
  * Goblin Postal Service
  * Communication Patronus
  * Interdepartmental Memo
  * Protean Charm Uses
  * Muggle Mail



Most of these he already knew about. The protean charm was a key component in the rune work of the journals that he had created and he’d used most of the others at one time or another. All except for the communication patronus. _That_ was one that he’d never heard of before.

Flipping through the book, he turned to the appropriate chapter. As his eyes skimmed backwards and forwards, he slowly wandered across to the closest chair and settled in for a read.

-oOoOo-

_Have you thought about what I asked, Harry? We’d really like to see you and spend the day with you again._

Harry sat back in his chair, staring at the words that had just been transmitted. He knew what she was asking; he’d been asking himself that very question, with that very reasoning, for over three weeks now.

_Harry?_

Slowly, he moved back closer to the desk and, even as he brought his pen to the journal, he still had no idea what he was about to write.

_I don’t know, Hermione. We got away with it once, but that’s not to say that we’d manage it again._

_I understand, Harry,_ the words on the journal stated, _but I’m sure that we could pull it off again. I’m sure that Mum and Dad would help, just like last time._

_That’s beside the point, Hermione,_ he wrote back _. You know what’ll happen if I’m caught._

_I know, Harry._ There was a pause then, before Hermione’s words slowly began again. _Whatever you decide, Harry. I know that it’s less than a month until this’ll all be over with, it’s just, it’s just, that I miss you._

Harry stared at those last three words. One thing about living by yourself for so long was that it gave you an immense amount of time to think. ‘I miss you’. And to be honest, he missed her too. He missed being with his best friend. He missed being able to talk to people. Dobby and Angus and Jillian were about the only people that he’d been able to talk to in months and, they just weren’t the same.

In all honesty, he knew that he was lonely and that’s probably why, even without directing it, his hand wrote those two significant letters.

_OK._

-oOoOo-

“He said, ‘yes’!” Hermione hissed to her breakfast companions the instant that she joined them.

“He did?” a shocked sounding Neville clarified. “But I thought …”

“I think we all thought that,” Hannah agreed.

“I guess Hermione’s simply more persuasive than we imagined,” Susan grinned across the table.

Hermione’s mouth opened to refute the claim before snapping shut. Instead, she gave a mischievous smile and a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“So, what’s the plan, then?” Fred asked.

“The same as last time?” his twin asked a second later.

“Pretty much,” Hermione whispered, leaning across the table. “But _he_ said that he’d send something to my parents, so we won’t have to worry about that part.”

“Right, we’ll let the others know,” George stated.

-oOoOo-

_Same again, please. Nineteenth of March. H._

Dan Granger stared at the cryptic note that had appeared on the kitchen table sometime during the night.

“Emma?” he eventually called. “I think we’re off on another trip up north.”

-oOoOo-

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard” Stan Shunpike read. “My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor for today.”

With a sigh, he pocketed the card, determined to finally memorise it before the end of next week. Or at least the end of the month. Looking up, he started at the terrifying sight of identical red-head faces grinning at him. He remembered these two from his time at Hogwarts. Granted, they’d only been in third year when he’d graduated, but still, their reputation as pranksters and second only to Peeves as being someone not to get on the wrong side of, was well known and well earned.

“What you grinning at then?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s good to see you again, Stan, me man,” the one on the left said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yes, good of you to come,” the other said as he led a procession of teenagers onto the bus.

Stan was sure that students weren’t supposed to leave the village during Hogsmeade weekends. At least, he was sure that he remembered that rule from when he was still there. But then, rules change, he guessed. With a shrug, he followed the last of them aboard, signalling for Ernie to close the door behind him.

“Where you lot off to, then?” he asked, sticking with one of the twins, seeing as they were the oldest of the bunch.

“Kelso Post Office, thanks, Stan,” the twin replied, handing over a small bag that jingled quite noticeably.

Stan felt the bus veer around a corner and swayed with the movement.

“That’s where you went the last time, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Could be. Don’t rightly remember,” the twin allowed.

“And nor should you,” the other stated intensely.

Stan gulped under the penetrating stares. “Nah, you’re right, I think I’ve got you lot mixed up with some others. I’ll just go tell Ern, then.”

With that, Stan hastened to the front of the bus, determined to stay as far away from that group as possible for the rest of the trip.

_Perhaps Ern’ll move them up the queue a bit_ , he thought hopefully.

-oOoOo-

Replacing the teacup onto its saucer with a soft _clink_ , Lucius Malfoy grimaced. The best that could be said for the Earl Grey tea was that it was … adequate. But then, this entire endeavour was enough to cause even the most minor of things to annoy him immensely.

Instead of savouring the quiet of a Saturday morning in the peace of his study at Malfoy Manor, here he was sitting outside of a muggle tea house ‘enjoying the sun’. Instead of being clothed in his usual stylish robes, he was dressed as a muggle, albeit in something called a ‘three-piece suit’, supposedly the epitome of muggle fashion.

And the only reason for this was a ‘hunch’. Ordinarily, hunches weren’t something that Lucius would normally succumb to, but for even the smallest chance to catch the elusive Harry Potter and present him to that oaf of a Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, he’d allowed his hunch to guide him.

Today was a Hogsmeade weekend for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the first since the beginning of February and the last before Potter should be voluntarily revealing himself for his trial in twelve days’ time.

After hearing from Draco and examining the log of the Knight Bus, Lucius was almost positive that Potter’s friends had made an unauthorised excursion to see their elusive friend. And if they’d done it once, then it was possible that they’d do it again.

And, even if they failed to meet up with Potter, the opportunity to get some mudbloods and blood traitors into trouble was not to be missed. Lucius was sure that, even though he was no longer on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, he still had enough influence to ensure that any rule-breakers would be punished severely, perhaps even expelled.

**_Bang!_ **

Lucius’ head whipped around and a predatory grin grew on his face. The violently purple magical bus known as the _Knight Bus_ had materialised exactly where he had predicted. Half a minute later, with another explosion, it took off, leaving behind a gaggle of twelve teenagers.

From his position outside the café, he surveyed the twelve. All were dressed in common muggle clothing, drawing little attention from those around them. Most, he was able to recognise on sight: a pair of red-headed Weasleys; the Bones girl; Longbottom; the mudblood Granger; Greengrass and Davis, of course; the Lovegood girl (wasn’t she only a second year and too young to even visit Hogsmeade?); the Moon girl; and four others who he took careful note of in order to point out later.

As he watched, he saw the group hailed by a pair of muggles, a male and female, who, judging by the woman’s hair, had to be related to the mudblood Granger. Quickly, the teens engulfed the adults before the entire group walked up the road to a large muggle automobile.

_So, wherever Potter is requires travelling some distance,_ Lucius mused.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for the group to board the conveyance and for it to begin to move. As luck would have it, its path took it past where Lucius was sitting, allowing him to discretely draw his wand and to place a tracking charm on it.

_Soon, Potter, soon,_ Lucius smirked.

-oOoOo-

He’d been at this for nearly half an hour already and he was beginning to tire. Constant apparitions, even with them only being one every five minutes, was draining.

When Lucius began his plan, he’d expected the ‘chase’ to be relatively quick. Consequently, his plan had been simple: remain disillusioned and apparate to the muggle vehicle’s location every five minutes. But every time that he’d apparated, it was only to see the blasted contraption moving steadily away from him.

This time, though, there was a difference. He’d arrived at the side of the road in time to see the vehicle turning off into a small, unkempt lane – the exact type of unkempt lane that witches and wizards preferred to use for their magical dwellings.

Knowing, and uncaring, that he’d let his usual mask of stoicism slip, he grinned in sweet anticipation as he strode forth towards the lane. As he walked, his cane _tapping_ on the road, he sorted through his available options, searching for the best plan to accomplish his goals.

Every single one of them, though, flew straight out of his head the instant that he turned the corner and saw his quarry. At the far end of the lane, the vehicle had stopped to disgorge its passengers and there, standing in their midst, was not only the object of his search, Harry Potter, but also his former house elf, Dobby, the one that Potter had _stolen_ from him.

Seeing red, Lucius pulled his wand free from its hiding place in his walking stick and strode boldly forth, dispelling the disillusionment spell as he did so.

“Harry Potter!” he yelled.


	27. Chapter 27

“Trainee Auror Tonks, welcome to the Big Board,” Auror Lionel Williamson said, gesturing to the large map of Great Britain on the wall behind him.

“Thank you, Sir,” Tonks replied.

“I assume that you’re familiar with how it works?” Williamson asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Tonks replied, before elaborating. “The map is tied to the wards surrounding the country. Every ward is calibrated to detect magical emissions. By utilizing the information of strength and distance of magical discharges from each ward stone, the board is able to triangulate the exact position of that discharge. Naturally, known magical dwellings, as well as magical shopping districts, for example Hogsmeade, and other important sites like Hogwarts and Saint Mungo’s have all been nullified on the map.”

“Correct, Auror Tonks,” Williamson stated, sounding pleased with her knowledge. “That means that our primary duty with this Board is watching out for under-age magic and especially pre-Hogwarts aged children’s magical outbursts so that we can deal with it as quickly as possible, thus maintaining the Statute of Secrecy. A happy side-effect is that we can also monitor for any magical law breaking.”

Tonks nodded her understanding as she eyed the Big Board.

“Your duty is to watch the board for any flashes. The brighter the flash, the greater the magical discharge. Continuous flashes represent the repeated use of magic. Usually, it’s pretty boring work, no matter how necessary it is. If by some chance something does happen, pass it up the line as quickly as you can. Any questions?” Williamson asked.

“No, Sir, I think I’ve got this,” Tonks stated firmly.

With a nod, he left her to settle into the hard-backed chair behind the table to watch the board for the next six hour shift.

-oOoOo-

Harry paused at the top of the drive into Potter Haven, just inside the ward boundaries, turned and looked back down.

The valley lay before him in all of its glory. Spring had finally come to Scotland, perhaps a little later than might have been expected, but that could be just because of how far north they were. Snow no longer covered the hills and valleys. A light dusting of purple signified where the heather was beginning its yearly regrowth and, further down into the valley, the grass was greening up nicely.

From this vantage point, he could see the long, thin grey line that meandered down the hill before coming to stop in front of the manor. The new gardens that bordered the drive couldn’t be made out from here, but Harry knew that the flowers that he and Dobby had planted were beginning to bloom. Mostly they were traditional – daisies, chrysanthemums and primroses – mixed in with hedges of lavender as well as the occasional magical species like honking daffodils and flitterblooms.

Further down the valley, the blue of the small loch sparkled drawing his attention and making him smile as he remembered his flight around the valley only yesterday when he’d dipped his toes in the cool water as he flew over the top of it on his Nimbus.

“Master Harry Sir?”

Harry looked down at the house elf beside him and smiled.

“I’m coming, Dobby, just admiring the view,” he said.

Turning, Harry walked the last few metres and felt a tingling sensation on his body as he crossed the valley wards.

Clempshaw Lane really wasn’t much to look at. To be honest, it was little more than a dirt track, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other, bordered by an old hedge in desperate need of some TLC. Every few metres, there were either dead patches in the hedge or places where a hole had opened up.

At the end where Harry currently stood were a collection of a dozen or so boulders, the largest reaching up to his shoulder and the smallest about the right size to sit upon. A pair of elm trees stood either side of the path’s end, providing a modicum of shade.

Taking a seat on the closest convenient boulder, Harry settled in to await the arrival of his friends.

-oOoOo-

The instant that the door to the minibus opened, Hermione shot out. She’d already noticed the sight of her best friend through the windshield standing there, waiting for them at the end of the lane seconds after they’d turned in.

In her haste, she nearly skidded on the dirt before she righted herself and flung herself into Harry’s arms.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you. How are you?” she babbled into his ear.

“I’m good, Hermione. Better now that you’re all here,” he replied, squeezing her in return.

“Hello, Dobby,” Luna said.

Hermione pulled back to see the strangely dressed little house elf looking shyly up at the blonde-haired girl standing in front of him.

“Hello, Miss Luna,” he said, blushing a bright red.

“Our turn,” Daphne stated as she, Tracey and Fiona tugged Hermione out of the way so that they could have a turn hugging Harry in greeting.

“Hey guys,” Harry grinned at the gathering crowd around him. “Good trip?”

“Everything went off without a hitch,” George stated, slapping the black haired boy on the back.

“Including these two terrifying Stan,” Lil commented, jerking her thumb at the twins.

At Harry’s confused expression, Hermione translated for him. “Stan’s the conductor of the Knight Bus. Apparently those two played a few tricks on Stan a few years ago when he still went to Hogwarts.”

“Hello, Harry dear,” Emma Granger said, taking her turn at greeting their host.

“Hi, Mrs Granger. Thanks for bringing everyone,” Harry replied.

“It was our pleasure, Harry.”

“Harry Potter!”

Hermione, along with everyone in the group, turned towards the far end of the lane to see a tall man with long flowing platinum-blonde hair striding towards them. Despite the muggle black suit and the elegant cane, the wand in his hand gave evidence that this was a wizard. And judging by the look of pure malice on his face, he was only there for one reason: trouble.

-oOoOo-

“Harry Potter!”

Harry spun at the sound of his name. His eyes bulged and he took an involuntary half-step backwards.

Lucius Malfoy, looking angry enough to murder, advanced towards the group. At the moment he was still nearly a hundred metres away, but at the rate that he was advancing down the middle of the lane, it wouldn’t take him long to reach them.

Harry’s eyes darted from side to side, seeking an escape. His heart pounded in his chest; sweat blossomed on his forehead, back and palms. He was caught and he knew it. If he wanted to escape, he had seconds at most. But escape to where? With the tall hedges to either side of the lane plus Malfoy dead in front, the only avenue was backwards, backwards into Potter Haven.

And even though it was his first inclination to turn and run into the valley, Harry knew that he couldn’t. To do so would only leave his friends in danger of serious trouble.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Daphne hissed.

“How’d he find us?” Fred asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered, “he’s here now.”

“You’re coming with me, Potter, back to the Ministry and the punishment you deserve for all that you’ve done,” Malfoy bellowed.

“I … I could … I could take … take care of … of old bad master,” Dobby offered.

Harry glanced down to see his friend visibly shaking from the very sight of the man who had tortured him for so many years.

Dropping to one knee, Harry whispered into one overly large bat-like ear. As he stood back up, he saw Dobby take the hands of the two closest to him – Luna and Tracey – before, with a small _crack_ he, and they, disappeared.

“What have you done with my property?” Malfoy demanded, pointing his wand at Harry’s chest.

“He’s not your property!” Harry yelled back. “Dobby’s a thinking, feeling person. Not someone to be punished whenever you feel like it.”

“That elf belongs to me!” Malfoy countered. “Return him or suffer the consequences.”

A sharp _crack_ announced Dobby’s reappearance.

“He’s not yours! You lost him, remember?” Harry retorted. “And I paid you for that!”

“A piddling amount of gold doesn’t make him yours either, Potter,” Malfoy retorted, shifting his wand down and to the right where Dobby now stood.

Before a spell could be cast, Dobby grasped another set of hands – this time Neville and Hannah’s – and disappeared with a _crack_.

-oOoOo-

“Just who do you think you are, Mister?” Dan Granger asked, stepping forward to shield Harry from the irate man in front of them.

He was dressed like ordinary folk, but the wand that he held out in front of him told the story of his true origins. The blonde-haired man dismissed him with a sneer.

“One of your betters, muggle! Now leave and allow me to deal with this criminal fugitive.”

“I don’t think so,” Dan replied. “Harry hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Without replying, the man – Malfoy, Dan reminded himself – took a couple of steps to the side, creating a better angle to target Harry with his wand once more. In response, Dan began to move to once again block the man’s line of sight.

Before he could accomplish his goal, though, the _cracking_ of Dobby reappearing wrenched everyone’s attention down and to the left.

Instantly, Malfoy’s wand jerked to its new target.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ” he spat.

-oOoOo-

Tonks had been having a boring day. Not that she’d expected anything else. It was a well-known fact among the entire auror department, trainees and full aurors alike, that watching he Big Board was drudge duty. It was long, it was boring but, at the same time, it was incredibly necessary. Slacking off wasn’t an option.

Ensuring that there was nothing that could shatter the Statute of Secrecy was imperative. Outbursts of accidental magic were unavoidable, particularly in the young muggleborn and it was part of her department’s responsibility to ensure that whatever response was needed – be they aurors, obliviators, or specialists to handle the reversal of magic – were dispatched as quickly as possible.

And unfortunately, today was Tonks’ first day on this rotation. The first three hours had sped by at the speed of a snail as she stared at a board that remained steadfast in its sameness.

Resting her head on one hand, her elbow on her desk, Tonks played with the long pink hair that she sported today. In some ways, she willed something to happen, anything really, just to take the monotony away. A glance at her watch told her that her break was still another half hour away and she was beginning to wonder if she’d be able to keep her eyes open that long.

A sudden blink of red somewhere near the top of the board caught her attention. Shifting her eyes, she stared at the point where she thought that it’d come from.

A second and then a third flare of red light in the same location snapped her upright.

-oOoOo-

Dobby popped back to his Master Harry as quickly as he could. Already he’d taken four of Master Harry Sir’s friends away to Hogsmeade, just like he’d been ordered to.

He knew that he could help Master Harry Sir, even with as much as he dreaded facing the man who still terrorised many of his nightmares, but until he’d finished his task, he was forbidden. The great Master Harry had entrusted Dobby with the safety of his friends and he had no intention of letting him down.

As he arrived, Dobby looked up to the closest two to him – one of the tall red-haired twins and the funny little muggleborn with the camera.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ”

Dobby’s eyes bugged at the sight of his old, bad master casting a spell at him. Without thinking, Dobby grabbed hold of the two boys’ legs and _cracked_ away to safety.

-oOoOo-

“ _Incarcerous!_ ”

With a deft flick, Harry’s wand shot into his hand. He knew that he’d be too late – there was no way that he could cast a shield in time to stop the spell hitting Dobby. Growling at his own stupidity, Harry adjusted his feet, ready to stop whatever else Malfoy threw.

His eyes, though, never left the spell as it sped towards his friend. A section of thick ropes shot across the intervening space, straight at the small elf. A sharp _crack_ rent the air barely a second before the spell impacted, leaving the ropes to pass through the empty space where Dobby, George and Colin had just been standing.

Unfortunately, though, the ropes impacted against the legs of the person standing right behind the now missing three. Lil screamed as her legs were entangled and she fell hard onto the hard dirt.

“ _Finite!_ Harry snapped, sending a white jet of light at the girl on the ground before whirling around to target Malfoy. “ _Expelliarmus!”_

Almost lazily, Malfoy stepped to the side, allowing the golden jet to bypass him.

“You want to play, do you, Potter?” Malfoy mocked with a sneer worthy of Snape. “Fine, then, let’s play! I doubt the Ministry will really care what sort of shape you’re in when I bring you in.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the threat. Knowing that there were still eight potentially defenceless people around him, Harry darted to the side, away from the minibus.

“Get to cover!” he hissed.

Then, bringing his wand back up and into play, he determined to get, and keep, Malfoy’s attention until Dobby had finished his task.

-oOoOo-

Emma Granger didn’t need to be told twice. She’d just watched the man shoot ropes out of his wand to bind Lil and then saw Harry dispel those same ropes using his own wand. She knew that as a non-magical, she was in grave danger being around those two if they were about to fight.

“Come on, do as he says!” she ordered, grabbing her daughter and Susan and pulling them backwards.

“But, Harry ..” Hermione protested.

“Harry can take care of himself,” Emma snapped. “Now, move!”

As soon as she had the two moving, she latched onto Fiona and Daphne to make them move as well. Beside her, she noticed Dan almost wrestling with Fred – the tall red-head, his wand out and ready, obviously wanting to go and help his friend.

_Crack_.

“Come along, Mrs Mione’s Mum,” Dobby said, reaching for her hand.

Emma glared at the elf. “I’m not going anywhere while these children are in danger. Take Fiona and Daphne instead.”

“Yes, Mrs Mione’s Mum,” Dobby replied before grasping hold of the two girl’s hands before disappearing with into thin air.

-oOoOo-

_“Stupify!”_

_“Protego!”_ Harry countered, dropping to one knee with the effort of maintaining the strength of his shield.

_“Incarcerous!”_

_“Diffindo!”_ Harry shot and grinned when the incoming ropes were sliced cleanly in two to pass harmlessly to either side of him.

This seemed far too easy for Malfoy. The tall man stood still, almost lazily flicking spell after spell at him, leaving Harry with little time to counter or dodge.

_“Stupify!”_

This time, Harry dove for the cover of the closest boulder, managing to duck behind it before Malfoy’s spell could hit.

“Come, come Potter, you don’t honestly expect to better a fully trained wizard, do you?” Malfoy mocked.

“I seem to be holding my own!” Harry shot back.

Easing backwards slightly, he took a glance at the minibus. From this angle, it looked as though Dobby had succeed in getting most of his friends to safety, but he still needed more time before he’d be free to help Harry.

And to be honest, he knew that Malfoy was right – there was no way that he could beat the man by himself.

_“Confringo!”_

Hearing the spell thrown his way, Harry’s eyes widened and he threw himself backwards rolling away, his hands covering his head as the rock that he had just been crouching behind exploded into shards of high speed shrapnel.

Coughing slightly in the dust, Harry gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of simply defending. He may not be able to win against the man, but there was no way that he wasn’t going to try his damndest to at least hurt him.

Pushing himself up, Harry stayed low, spinning in place until his wand was pointed at Malfoy, still standing unprotected in the middle of the laneway.

“ _Flatus venti! Stupify! Petrifus totalus!”_ he screamed.

A burst of wind erupted from his wand, kicking up a massive cloud of dust that flew down the lane before engulfing the wizard. Twin beams of light quickly followed it, disappearing inside the cloud. Harry listened intently, hoping to hear a body fall to the ground.

_“Meteolojink recanto! Diffindo!_

At Malfoy’s command, the dust cloud dispersed before he launched a wicked cutting curse that Harry was forced to drop to the ground to evade. Turning his head, Harry noted that Dobby, Fred and Lil had disappeared from the battle. He needed Dobby to hurry; he needed allies to help him. Suddenly, a gin appeared on his face.

Searching out what he needed, Harry pin-pointed the rock cluster with his wand.

_“Draconifers!”_

-oOoOo-

Tonks shot around the corner from where the Big Board was tucked away, only to come to a screeching halt as she nearly ploughed into her boss. Tumbling over her own feet, she crashed headlong into a nearby chair, sending it ricocheting across the corridor and into a desk.

“Trainee! What do you think you’re doing?” Madam Bones glowered at her.

Tonks looked up at her boss. She was currently towering over her, her monocle pressed bitingly into her cheek. Ordinarily, the sight would terrify Tonks, but not today.

“Madam Bones! The Board, it’s going haywire,” she reported.

“What? What are you talking about?” Madam Bones asked.

“The Big Board. It’s flashing like crazy,” Tonks tried to clarify.

A hand shot down to help her to her feet. “Show me.”

Tonks was barely able to squeeze past her boss to make it into the room before her. She’d barely opened her mouth to detail what she’d seen when Madam Bones cut her off with a sharp jab of her hand.

“Auror Response Team, report to the Big Board!” Madam Bones’ _sonorous_ -enhanced voice ordered through the department.

“How long as it been flashing like that?” she demanded.

“A couple of minutes,” Tonks replied. “At first it was just a couple of flashes, but then it started doing … that.”

Indeed, even as she looked back at the board she could see that that small point just north of the English-Scottish border was flashing continuously with ever increasing brightness. Before she could ask what it meant, a team of six aurors, wands already drawn, erupted through the door.

“Looks like a battle in progress,” Madam Bones reported. “We’re going in hot. You all know the drill. Trainee Tonks, I want a full write up by the time I get back.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Shall I lead the team?” Dawlish asked.

“Didn’t you just hear me? I said when ‘we’ get back. I’m leading this mission,” Madam Bones snapped.

Touching her wand to the point of the flashing lights, she muttered a spell before a flash heralded the materialisation of a large wooden hoop.

“Right. Grab hold everyone,” Madam Bones commanded.

Tonks watched as the seven aurors grasped the hoop with one hand, their bodies turned to face outwards, their wands at the ready.

“And three … two … one …”

With a brilliant golden flash, the seven disappeared.

-oOoOo-

The four small animated dragons were an irritation at best and one that Malfoy knew that he needed to instantly dispose of. The boy was trying to distract him. The plan was all too obvious. And unfortunately, it was succeeding.

Already, he’d counted the sound of the elf disapperating five times, meaning that most of Potter’s friends had already escaped. No matter; he knew who they were. But worse than that, it meant that Potter’s chance of escaping was rapidly increasing as well. And there was one sure way to ensure that that didn’t happen.

Banishing a clump of tree branches at the boy, Malfoy turned his attention to the irritating small dragons that we currently nipping at his toes. With a pair of kicks, he sent two flying, sliding down the road. A pair of _confringo_ s later and they were reduced to the stone that they came from. The remaining two were quickly dispatched in a similar manner.

_Crack!_

Malfoy smirked. Potter’s little _friend_ was back.

Four quick steps ahead and to the side gave him the perfect angle to see the small huddle behind the muggle contraption. There weren’t many left of the group – only the mudblood Granger, her parents and the Bones girl. And there, standing just to one side of them all, reaching out for the two girls, was _Dobby._

If the elf was no longer his, then it wasn’t going to belong to anyone.

Savouring what was about to happen, Malfoy brought his wand up and to bear.

“Avada …”

-oOoOo-

Harry spat out the dirt that he’d inadvertently swallowed in his head-long dive out of the way of the branch that had been banished towards him. Lifting his head, he sought out his opponent. The battle was taking longer than he’d like and, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. This wasn’t anything like training against the dummies in his basement.

A frown creased his face as he tried to fathom what Malfoy was doing, striding forwards. The odd part was that his attention wasn’t even centred on Harry. Instead, he seemed to be looking at the small group of his friends still behind the bus.

As Malfoy’s arm began to rise, Harry pushed himself to his feet, scrambling to gain purchase.

He was already in motion when he heard the start of the most feared curse in the wizarding world.

“Avada – “

Harry flung his wand out to the side. “ _Diffindo!”_

And then he dove, desperately trying to reach his target.

-oOoOo-

Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, landed with bent knees upon an old dirt road. A line of unkempt hedges lined the way, but it was not that that had her attention.

By happy coincidence, she was the one facing down the road to see what she first took as a muggle in an expensive looking suit staring down the lane away from her. The long platinum blonde hair, combined with the raised arm and wand rang alarm bells. She blinked, her brain taking a fraction too long to process what she was seeing.

And then everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

“Avada – ” Lucius Malfoy intoned.

Madam Bones’ eyes shifted, searching for the target of the Unforgiveable.

The figure of a teen rose from the dirt behind a branch and began sprinting across the lane, directly for the far side of a muggle bus. With a start she realised who the bespectacled teen with the messy black hair was.

Without looking, Harry Potter flung out his arm, a spell erupting from the tip of his wand, directly at Malfoy, even as he continued towards the bus.

“Kadavra!”

She saw Potter dive out of sight, right towards where the ominous green light was headed.

“Lucius Malfoy! Drop your wand! You’re under arrest for using an Unforgivable!” she bellowed.

Around her, six wands spun to train on the man.

Malfoy, for his part, also spun around, giving Madam Bones a good look at the blood sheeting down the side of his face. Potter’s last spell, it seemed, had cut a massive gash across his face, from just above the side of his mouth, all the way across his cheek. Judging by the blood spilling from the misshapen ear, she’d say that a part of his ear had been cut off as well.

When Malfoy didn’t immediately comply with her order, she gave a second.

“Take him down!”

Seven stunners flashed across the space, only to impact on the far hedges.

Malfoy had disapperated.

-oOoOo-

“It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!” Hermione sobbed.

The same phrase had been spilling from her lips from the instant that her mother had pushed her to safety behind the mini-bus. Lucius Malfoy had found them. How, it didn’t really matter. But who was to blame was glaringly obvious. Her.

_She_ was the one who’d pushed Harry to allow them to come visit today. _She_ was the one who’d agreed to the stupid plan in the first place last month. _She_ was the one to tell the others about Harry. If she’d only been thinking instead of being selfish, after she’d thrown those stupid photos in the fire, she would have sworn herself, Neville and Colin to secrecy, never to mention it again. But no, she just had to be selfish, as though she was the only one who knew what was right. _She_ was the one who decided that her need to see her friend was more important than that friends’ need to stay safely hidden.

And Harry had been doing such a great job all by himself. He had a place to live, Dobby to help look after him, he was studying. He even had a job. And then she had to come along with her selfish, unthoughtful, know-it-all behaviour and ruined it all for him. What kind of friend did that make her?

Not a very good one, that’s what. If Harry never wanted to speak to her again after today, she wouldn’t blame him. In fact, she was having a hard time even thinking to herself, so much did she despise her own behaviour at the moment.

And what was Harry currently doing? Why what he _always_ did. Thinking about others before himself. Instead of getting himself to safety, he was out there trading spells with Malfoy, intent on giving Dobby enough time to get _them_ to safety.

_Crack!_

Dobby’s reappearance momentarily distracted her.

“Alright, Hermione, Susan, your turn,” her mother said.

Hermione looked up at her and then at the little house elf with his big tennis-ball like eyes and half smile watching her.

And then the sound of the most terrifying spell rent the air.

“Avada – ”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Movement over Dobby’s shoulder caught her attention and she watched, spellbound, as she saw Harry rise and start towards them. She saw his arm swing out and a spell leave his lips. And then he was diving right at them.

“Kadavra!”

Almost in slow motion, she watched Harry flying through the air. Moving her head slightly, she made out the sickly green spell flying towards them – Dobby, it seemed, its target. The two, Harry and the spell raced towards the unaware elf.

Hermione’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw Harry’s outstretched hands arrive first, shoving Dobby away.

The elf spun towards her and together they went down, but not before she saw the most horrifying sight of her entire life: the killing beam of green light impacting with Harry’s shoulder.


	28. Chapter 28

The green light of Lucius Malfoy’s killing curse impacted squarely on Harry Potter’s shoulder mere moments after he’d managed to push his friend, the house elf Dobby, out of its path. The light of determination in his eyes was instantly extinguished. His body, no longer under mortal control continued its leap, landing unceremoniously in the dirt, arms and legs splayed every which way that gravity allowed.

In front of his lifeless body, his very best friend screamed at such an ear-piercing volume as to bring the aurors down the lane running. Tears streamed down Hermione Granger’s face as she struggled out from under Dobby who had been pushed into her from where they’d ended up sprawled on the ground.

“Harry! Harry! No! Nonononono,” she wailed.

Finally freeing herself, she flung herself on top of him, trying to wrap him in one of her famous hugs.

“Master Harry Sir?” Dobby breathed.

“It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! I’m so sorry, Harry! It’s all my fault! If it wasn’t for me you … you’d still … you’d still be … alive!” she sobbed.

“Master Harry Sir saved Dobby!” the house elf wailed, catching up to and threatening to surpass Hermione’s grief in a fraction of a second.

“Hermione, let us see,” her mother commanded, grasping her arms to pull her back and away from the motionless boy.

The instant that he had room, Dan Granger reached in, grasped Harry’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Eager fingers pressed onto his neck even as his ear was laid flat against the boy’s chest.

“No pulse or breath,” he reported to his wife.

Determinedly, Emma forced her daughter to the side.

“You massage his heart; I’ll breathe for him,” she stated, to the agreeing nod of her husband.

“Mister Granger, Mrs Granger, there’s nothing that you can do for him,” Amelia Bones said gently, even as the two ignored her.

“Leave them be,” Hermione choked out. “They’re doctors … healers. Let them do what they’re trained to do.”

“Is that … is that the Boy-Who-Lived?” Auror Pritchards breathed, staring at the strange sight of the dead teen with the muggle pushing rapidly on his chest.

“Not any more,” Dawlish drawled.

“John!” Amelia snapped, silencing him instantly.

The sight of a lone wand caught Amelia’s attention. From where it lay, it had obviously been Harry’s. Now, it looked little more than a stick, rolled off to the side. Carefully skirting the Grangers, she retrieved it before placing it inside a clear tube which then went into one of the pockets of her uniform.

As she turned back, the sight of a small, red-haired girl clinging tightly to a house-elf caught her attention. Both were sobbing uncontrollably into each others’ shoulders.

“Susan?” she asked in disbelief.

The girl looked up, her watery blue eyes almost grey in colour with her grief, seeking the voice.

“Auntie?” Susan gasped.

Somehow, she managed to disentangle herself from Dobby before scrambling to her feet and flinging herself into Amelia’s arms.

“What are you doing here, child? Why aren’t you at Hogwarts?” Amelia asked. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. “Where’s Hannah?” And then, as her eyes fell once more upon Hermione still crashed upon her knees, staring at her parents, tears streaming from her eyes, “For that matter, where’s Neville Longbottom?”

Susan shook her head into her shoulder.

With a frown, Amelia pulled her niece off of her.

“Susan! Susan! Who else was here?” she demanded.

Once again, Susan shook her head but this time, Madam Bones detected the slight look that the girl gave to the elf.

“I need to know, Susan. This isn’t the time to be playing games. Right now, I’m not your Aunt, I’m the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Amelia stated. “Now, who else was here?”

Susan’s eyes switched between Dobby and Hermione before looking at her Aunt once more. Then, dropping her head, she began to answer.

“Hannah and Neville and Lil were here. And the Weasley twins; Luna and Colin; and Daphne, Tracey and Fiona,” she managed. “Dobby took them all back to Hogsmeade.”

Madam Bones’ eyes snapped across to her men, all of whom were shifting uncomfortably as they watched the Grangers doing … something to Harry Potter.

“Pritchards, Thompson. You two get to Hogwarts. I want Hannah Abbot, Neville Longbottom, Lil Moon, Fred and George Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Colin Creevey, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Fiona Spinks in an interview room before I get there,” she ordered. “But be careful how you handle it; they’re all just kids.”

“Right, Boss,” Pritchards said, before, with a nod, they both apparated away.

“Douglas. Get back to Headquarters. I want an Arrest On Sight order out for Lucius Malfoy. He’s shown that he’s willing and capable of using an Unforgiveable, so he’s to go down hard, no questions asked, until we’ve got him in an interview room. Make sure to post a couple of aurors outside Gringotts as well as St. Mungo’s. And keep it in-house until I say so. If word of what’s happened here gets out, I know who’ll be spending the next five years on guard duty at Azkaban”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he gulped, before he too disapparated.

“What about us?” Dawlish asked, motioning to his two colleagues standing beside him.

“We’ll stay here until Mister and Mrs Granger feel that they’ve done all that they can and then we’ll bring them and the body back to the DMLE,” she stated through the lump in her throat.

-oOoOo-

A soft warmth on his face brought Harry back to consciousness. He lay there, at least he was pretty sure that he was lying down, enjoying the peace, the quiet and the warmth. He blinked his eyes open and frowned. Where he’d been expecting clear blue sky and a soft yellow sun high above him, instead, there was a soft mist-like quality to the air. Shifting his head around, he searched for the sun. Instead, in every direction, there was only that white mist.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looked further afield. Slowly, the mist seemed to roll back in whatever direction he was looking. The ground, which he’d thought was a dull grey, sprang to life to become a thick carpet of grass, its greenness so vibrant that his breath caught in his throat. In the distance, where the mist met the grass, hints of purple made him think that he was somewhere in Scotland where the heather grew. Somewhere like the hillside above Potter Haven.

Standing up, he blanched and spun around wildly. For some strange reason, he was naked. At least there were no people around to see him. His eyes flickered across the ground, searching for something, anything that he could use to cover himself. Almost like a thought, a small bundle appeared.

Harry raced towards it, finding a neatly folded white shirt atop a pair of jeans which he hurriedly dressed in, marvelling that they were a perfect fit.

A small whimper-like noise caught his attention. Turning around slowly, he sought to find what animal or creature was nearby. Whatever it was was obviously in some pain and he thought to find it. Perhaps he could help it. If he could get it back to Potter Haven, then between him and Dobby, he was sure that everything would be alright.

Dobby.

Harry spun frantically around, trying to find his little friend. The last that he remembered, he was reaching to push the elf out of the way of Malfoy’s killing curse. He thought that he’d been successful, but he couldn’t be sure. His panic increased when he couldn’t find any sign of him.

The whimper again caught his attention and Harry moved to find it, desperately hoping that it wasn’t Dobby.

A small overhang of rocks materialised and Harry rounded it to peer underneath. Seeing what was there, he recoiled in horror. Whatever that deformed baby-thing was, was sickening. It looked malnourished and its skin was a combination of charcoal black and blood red. He sighed with relief, realising that it wasn’t Dobby.

“You can’t help it,” a soft, musical voice spoke from behind him.

Spinning around, Harry found himself face to face with a young woman with striking red hair smiling at him. But it was her eyes that caught and held him mesmerised. Only on one other person had he seen emerald eyes so like his own.

“Mum?”

“Oh, Harry, darling, it’s so good to see you,” she breathed, opening her arms wide.

Without a thought, Harry leapt the small distance into her arms. He felt her arms close around him, encircling him, holding him tight. A hint of lilac and apple blossoms met him as he breathed deep, a scent that his memory told him he knew from long, long ago.

“Mum, is it really you?” he asked, his voice muffled in her shoulder.

“Yes, Harry, it’s really me,” she said.

“Do you have a hug for me, too, Sport?”

Shifting slightly in his mother’s arms, Harry found a young man with incredibly messy black hair and round glasses in front of sparkling brown eyes smiling at him.

“Dad?” he asked.

At his nod, Harry moved, his mother letting him go so that he could launch himself into his father’s embrace.

“What are you doing here?” he finally wondered after some time had passed that had included many, many tears and even more hugs.

“That, Harry, is a long story,” James sighed. “And not one that we can completely tell.”

Harry peered curiously at him.

“What can you tell me?”

“You aren’t really supposed to be here, Harry. Not yet, at least. Not for a very long time,” Lily stated.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What do you remember from just before you woke up here?” James asked.

Harry frowned. “I was battling Lucius Malfoy, trying to give Dobby time to get all of my friends away to safety. But Malfoy cast a killing curse at Dobby. I … I remember trying to get to Dobby to push him out of the way, and then … nothing,” he explained.

“You succeeded, son,” James smiled. “You saved your friend.”

“But at the cost of being hit with the curse yourself,” Lily finished sadly.

“So, I’m dead?” Harry asked, surprised that he wasn’t upset with that idea.

“Well, yes and no,” Lily replied.

“You’re only mostly dead,” James answered at the same time.

‘Huh?”

“That … creature there, will help you survive. If you want, you’ll be able to return to your friends, leaving it behind,” James stated.

“What is it?” Harry asked, glancing nervously at the repulsive thing.

“That, Harry, is a piece of Lord Voldemort,” Lily told him. “It’s only a very tiny piece, but it’s a piece that had been stuck inside you for a very long time.”

“That was inside me! How’d it get there?” Harry gasped.

“That, we cannot explain to you right now. Just know that when Voldemort tried to kill you that night, something went wrong and that tiny piece latched on to you,” James said. “And now, thanks to that killing curse, it’s been killed for good.”

“And that is why, you have a chance to go back,” Lily stated with a smile that failed to reach her eyes.

“A chance? You mean that I could stay here with you?” Harry asked.

“You could, Harry, but then you’d miss out on living your life,” James replied.

“And I’m sure that you don’t want to leave your friends behind just yet, do you, Harry?” Lily asked.

“No. No, I don’t,” Harry replied, the image of one particular one popping into his mind. “So … so how do I go back?”

“Simply return back the way you came,” James stated, looking back up the hillside.

Harry glanced that way, but he couldn’t leave just yet. Instead, he flung himself back into his mother’s arms. He revelled in the feeling of her warm, loving embrace, of the smell of her, of the way she rested her cheek on the top of his head.

Finally, he was passed off to his father. His dad’s embrace was different and yet the same. It was just as loving, just as comforting, but it was stronger somehow and the way that he mussed Harry’s hair was both wonderful and slightly annoying at the same time – just what a father’s hug, he felt, should be like.

“Will I see you again?” he asked through the lump in his throat.

“Of course you will, Harry,” Lily smiled.

“When it’s your time,” James agreed.

“We love you, Harry, never forget that,” Lily told him, causing tears to bubble from his eyes.

“And we’ll always be watching over you,” James said.

Nodding, unable to talk, Harry gave them both one last hug before determinedly backing away. Slowing, the mist returned until his parents were mere outlines of themselves, and then, the world around him descended into whiteness.

-oOoOo-

Just as Emma Granger lent over for her umpteenth turn of breathing for Harry, the boy gave a great shuddering breath. She jumped back slightly before pressing forward, slipping her arms under his shoulder and head so that, together with Dan, she could roll him onto his side.

Harry coughed and sounded as though he was choking slightly. Concerned, Emma bent over him, intent on checking his airways. A sickly green mist met her eyes and she jerked backwards, wide-eyed.

From Harry’s forehead, right where his lightning bolt scar was located, the mist billowed out, a high, ethereal scream piercing the air at near-inaudible levels. As the last tendril evaporated, a thick black goop seeped out of his scar to slide across his forehead.

With a quick twist of her wand, Amelia Bones conjured a small glass vial before gathering some of the tar-like substance into it.

“How did you do that?” Dawlish breathed. “I’ve never heard of anyone coming back from the dead before without some kind of dark ritual.”

“CPR,” Dan replied, looking up at the man. “It’s a … a muggle healing technique.”

“Come on, Harry, breathe slowly,” Emma ordered, keeping one hand flat against his chest to feel its movement.

“Malfoy,” Harry croaked.

“He’s gone, Harry,” Hermione told him, tears sliding down her cheeks. Only her father’s stern look kept her from throwing herself onto him.

“Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Here, Great Master Harry Potter Sir,” Dobby squeaked, bustling in front of Harry.

A small wry smile crossed the teen’s lips. “What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Dobby is sorry, Master Harry Sir. Dobby is just so very, very happy that Master Harry Sir is alive,” Dobby replied, twisting his ears.

“But, but, he was dead!” Auror Fry exploded.

“And now he’s not,” Madam Bones snapped. Her eyes fixed on the younger man. “Get to St. Mungo’s and get a healer to Headquarters. We’ll meet you there shortly.”

Slowly, Harry pushed himself upright. A large hankie appeared and Dan wiped away the goop that was still on his head.

“Harry! Your scar!” Hermione exclaimed.

“What? What about my scar?” he asked, lifting a hand to feel for it.

“It’s lighter, thinner,” she told him.

“I’m guessing that whatever that was, finally allowed it to heal,” Emma commented.

“Harry, are you feeling well enough to move? I’d like to get all of you somewhere safe to talk about what happened here,” Madam Bones stated.

In reply, Harry pushed himself to his feet. “Alright.”

“Dawlish, take the Grangers; McMann, the girls. I’ll take Mister Potter myself,” Amelia ordered, before looking down at the crazily-dressed house elf. “And I expect you to come too.”

Seconds later, Clempshaw Lane exploded in four simultaneous _cracks_.

-oOoOo-

“Healer Meyer, Ma’am,” Auror Fry reported.

Amelia looked up from the report that she was reading that Trainee Tonks had given her the instant that she’d arrived back in the DMLE with her prisoner in tow.

“Show her into Interview Room Five,” she ordered.

A second auror, Pritchards this time, interrupted her reading. “We’ve got all of the children. They’re in Rooms Two and Three.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Get up to the cafeteria and bring down some drinks and sandwiches for them. They could be in for a little wait.”

With a nod, he was gone.

“This looks to be good work, Trainee. Very thorough. Now, I need you to contact Lord Black and get him down here. The boy’s a minor and we’ll need his guardian here when we charge him.”

-oOoOo-

“Well?” Amelia asked as she strode into Interview Room Five.

The woman in her mid-forties wearing Healer green looked around at her.

“Physically, he’s fine. His magical core, though, is another matter.”

“What do you mean?” Amelia asked.

“His core seems to be fluctuating. It’s erratic. One minute it seems to be stable and solid, at levels that you’d expect from a boy in his near teens, the next the power levels are shooting about like an overpowered broom,” she explained.

“Is it dangerous?” Amelia asked sharply.

“I don’t think so,” Healer Meyer replied. “I’m pretty sure that it’ll settle down on its own in a couple of days, as long as he’s not casting any spells in the meantime. He really should be thoroughly scanned at St. Mungo’s, though.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Amelia promised. “Thank you.”

After she left, she rounded the desk to sit across from the boy. Apart from Auror Shaklebolt standing in the corner observing, they were alone in the room. The Grangers and her niece had been placed with the others that they’d collected from Hogwarts. Even the elf was with them.

“Now, Mister Potter, Harry, I need you to tell me what happened this morning,” she began.

She watched the boy sigh and look down at the tabletop before he lifted his head to look her in the eye.

“My friends came to visit me and then Lucius Malfoy turned up and started firing spells at me.”

“Succinct, but I suspect that there’s more to the story than that. A lot more,” Amelia stated. “Let’s start at the beginning. Was this the first time that your friends had visited you?”

“No,” he replied. “They’ve been once before.”

“When was that?”

“February five. It was a Hogsmeade weekend then, too,” Harry elaborated.

“How long have they known where you’ve been hiding?”

“Apparently since just after Christmas. Colin saw me during the break and told the others.”

“And they just decided to come visit you?” Amelia asked incredulously, pushing the thought that she needed to have a serious discussion with Susan later aside.

“Yeah. They had a plan. Well, Fred and George did. Obviously not as good as they thought if Malfoy was able to follow them today, though,” Harry said bitterly.

“We’ll get back to that later. Tell me exactly what happened this morning,” Amelia ordered.

“They’d just arrived and gotten off the minibus when Malfoy showed up,” Harry said. “He said that he was there to take me back to the Ministry, but he got angry when he saw Dobby. I ordered Dobby to take my friends back to Hogsmeade so that they wouldn’t get into trouble. But when Malfoy tried to use an _incarcerous_ on Dobby, things got out of hand. We traded a bunch of spells. I was trying to give Dobby time to get everyone to safety. But then Malfoy cast that killing curse at Dobby and all I could think of was getting to Dobby and getting him out of the way of it.”

Amelia nodded, picturing the scene in her mind. Her gut said that the boy wasn’t lying.

“I want a list of all the spells that you used.”

Harry’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he thought. “ _Expelliarmus. Protogo_. A couple of _diffindo_ ’s. _Flatus venti, stupefy_ and _petrifus totallus_. Oh, and a _draconifers_. Could be a couple of others, but I think that’s it. Not that any of it did any good. I don’t think I hit him once.”

“We’ll be checking your wand against that list,” Amelia told him. “And just so you know, you did get a hit in. I saw your last _diffindo_. It sliced his face by the look of it.”

“Am I going to get into trouble over this, too?” he asked, worry clear in his eyes.

“Until we’ve talked to the others that were there, I can’t answer that question,” Amelia replied.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her and she looked across to Shaklebolt. With her nod, he opened the door. Standing in the doorway was Trainee Tonks, her hair now a mouse-brown instead of the vibrant pink that it had been the last time that Amelia had seen her. Just visible behind her shoulder was a tall, black-haired man with a worried look on his face.

“Show them in, Kingsley,” Amelia ordered.

“Lord Black and Mister Julius Tentridge,” Trainee Tonks stated as she stepped through and then to the side of the door.

Sirius strode in, his eyes only on the teen seated at the desk.

“Sirius!” Harry cried, leaping up and rounding the desk.

“Harry!” Sirius replied, wrapping the boy in a hug. “Are you alright? Where’ve you been? What do you think you were doing, running away like that?”

“Sirius!” the elderly man with neat silver hair and wire-rimmed spectacles said sharply.

With a nod, Sirius stepped back, although firmly keeping a hold of Harry by turning him side-on and laying a hand across his shoulders.

“Harry, this is Julius Tentridge, your solicitor,” Sirius introduced.

“Hi, Mister Tentridge, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Harry said.

“And you as well, Mister Potter,” Julius stated with a nod before turning his eyes onto the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. “Amelia, you know that you shouldn’t be questioning a suspect without his solicitor present. And especially one who’s not of-age.”

Amelia stared back, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the statement.

“I assume that you’re going to charge Mister Potter?” Julius asked.

Fighting to hide her scowl, Amelia faced the teen still in the protective embrace of his godfather.

“Harry James Potter. It is my duty as Head of the Magical Law Enforcement to inform you that you have been charged with breaching the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic; with endangering the Statute of Secrecy; with failing to comply with the directions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, namely surrendering yourself when you were so ordered to; and with Truancy. Further charges relating to this mornings’ incident may be added. Your trial is set for the thirty-first of this month, twelve days hence.”

The longer that she talked, the paler that the boy’s face became and she was glad for the arm that was around him keeping him upright.

“What bail are you setting for Mister Potter?” Julius asked.

“No bail has been discussed, Mister Tentridge,” Amelia replied.

“Then I suggest that you do so,” Julius stated. “I will need Mister Potter free to move around in order to prepare his defence.”

Amelia eyed the boy, weighing her options carefully. She knew that she had to tread carefully. Regardless of her own personal feelings, she was bound by the law and as an officer of the law, she would follow it to the best of her ability.

“Mister Potter has proven that he is a flight risk,” Amelia began slowly. “Any bail would need to be set accordingly. And there would have to be restrictions.”

“Understood,” Julius replied. “To be honest, that is to be expected.”

Her eyes flicked between Harry and Sirius, an idea beginning to form.

“I will set Mister Potter’s bail at one thousand galleons, under the following conditions: one, Mister Potter is to remain in the care of Lord Black at all times; two, Lord Black must be aware of Mister Potter’s location at all times; three, at any time that the DMLE wishes to speak to Mister Potter, he and Lord Black will present themselves here within thirty minutes; and four, any breach of these conditions will see not only Mister Potter, but also Lord Black spending time in the harshest holding cells that we have.

“That means, Harry, that if I agree to set a bail for you and you decide to run again, Sirius will be arrested and could very well end up in Azkaban.”

Harry’s gulp was audible for all to hear. Nervously, he looked up into Sirius’ face before once again facing her.

“I give you my word that I won’t run,” he firmly stated.


	29. Chapter 29

Albus Dumbledore drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited. He was still not used to being left out of the know, even after most of a year of being mostly confined to the ancient castle. And then, to have every single one of his decisions as Headmaster scrutinized on top of it, grated on his very being.

It was the waiting that was the hardest. He’d tried convincing the young, well young by his standards at least, auror that, as Headmaster, he needed to accompany the group of students that he and his partner had collected before FLOOing off to the Ministry. Unfortunately, they were apparently ‘under orders’ to just bring the kids. The make-up of that group of students had been incredibly worrisome – every single one of them was a friend of Harry Potter’s.

Today being a Hogsmeade day, he’d known that they were all out of the castle. All, that is, except for the Lovegood girl and Mister Creevey. What could have happened that had made them return to the castle early or for the aurors to turn up shortly afterwards was the mystery that begged to be solved. Not even Aberforth knew and he usually knew everything that happened in the magical village.

Ordinarily, Albus would be pacing his office while he waited if he needed to think. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option right now, not with so many others already there. Mister Connington, his _Observer_ , had suggested that, as there were students from every House involved, then it only made sense for their Heads of House to be here when they returned. Albus had been forced to grit his teeth and agree, the very last thing that he wanted to do. How was he supposed to find out the information for himself and pass only what was essential to others?

The fire flaring up and turning green caught everyone’s attention – even Severus stepped slightly out of the corner where he was leaning against the wall in the only bit of shadow in the office – turning them around in expectation.

The first to step through was a man that Albus knew well – the tall bald-headed black man wearing the red-robes was Senior Auror Kingsley Shaklebolt. And then came a procession of students: One of the Weasly twins followed by the other; Misses Greengrass, Davis and Spinks; Mister Creevey; Miss Lovegood; Mister Longbottom and Misses Bones, Moon and Abbot; and finally, Hermione Granger.

With shuffling feet, the dozen students lined up behind Kingsley, each, Albus noted, giving furtive glances at their respective Head of House.

“Kingsley. Thank you for bringing our wayward students back to us? I trust that they weren’t in any sort of trouble?” Albus said lightly.

“Not with us, at least, Albus. I’ll leave it up to you to decide if you’ll be punishing them,” Kingsley’s deep baritone replied.

“What in the world did you need them for?” Minerva asked, obviously unable to control herself. “Did something happen in Hogsmeade?”

“Not in Hogsmeade, no,” Kingsley replied, turning to face her. “In southern Scotland, yes. These twelve were witnesses to an altercation between Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy.”

“What?”

“Southern Scotland?”

The outburst from the teachers behind the students caused more than one to flinch and stare even more pointedly at the floor at their feet.

Kingsley raised a hand to still their questions. “I’m sure you’ll read about it in tomorrow’s _Prophet_ , so I’ll give you the bare bones now. These twelve snuck out of Hogsmeade, not the first time either from what I understand, in order to meet up with Mister Potter.”

Once again Kingsley had to hold up a hand to hold off their comments.

“It seems, though, that they were followed by Lucius Malfoy. There was a bit of an argument and then a duel between Potter and Malfoy which resulted in Malfoy casting an AK at Potter. Hit him, too.”

“Harry’s dead?” Minerva gasped, groping for the chair behind her.

“Nah,” Kingsley grinned. “Don’t ask me how, but he survived that one too. Madam Bones and a squad got there in time to see the AK. Malfoy, unfortunately, got away.”

“Where’s Harry now?” Dumbledore asked quickly.

“He’s been released into his godfather’s care, pending his trial at the end of the month,” Kingsley replied. “I’ll leave this lot with you.”

And with a nod of farewell, he threw some powder into the fireplace, stepped in and FLOOed away.

Albus surveyed the dozen students lined up in front of his desk over his half-moon spectacles. His initial reaction was to curse them into oblivion for not telling him where Harry was, or perhaps to simply rummage about in their minds until he had the location of Potter’s little hideaway. But with so many others around, neither was appropriate. Thus, he decided to employ the disappointed grandfather routine.

“Leaving Hogsmeade?” he asked, shaking his head slowly.

He let them stew for nearly a minute before asking his next question. “How?”

He wasn’t surprised when it was the Granger girl who answered. She was well-known among the staff as being incapable of _not_ answering a question. And the tears streaming down her face attested to her emotional instability which would aid matters as well.

“The Knight Bus.”

“And how many times have you done this?”

“Twice,” she replied in a tiny voice.

“It was my understanding that only students third year and up were allowed into Hogsmeade,” Albus stated, shaking his head at the youngest two.

“We smuggled them out,” Fred, or perhaps George Weasley stated, obviously attempting to take the blame for the pair.

“Did any of you cast any spells during this altercation between Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy?” Filius asked.

“No,” Hermione shook her head, “Harry told us to hide and was having Dobby take us back to Hogsmeade.”

It took Albus’ prodigious memory several seconds to remember where he had heard that name before. Dobby was a house elf, most likely bonded to the boy judging by the girls’ statement.

“That’s something at least,” Filius allowed. “No underage laws broken.”

“Can you tell us where Mister Potter has been staying?” Albus decided to try.

A lot of shaking of heads met his question.

“We only knew after Harry showed us a piece of paper,” Miss Lovegood finally said.

Albus’ eyes narrowed. That sounded suspiciously like a _fidelius_ charm to him. No matter. He was sure that he could get a general idea after finding out where the battle took place.

“You are,” he said to the students, “of course aware that you will be punished for leaving the environs of Hogsmeade?”

A round of nodding heads met him, even though none dared look him in the eye. Pity.

“Fifty points apiece will be taken from you. Also, your Hogsmeade privileges have been revoked for the rest of the year, possibly next year’s too, depending upon your future behaviour. And detentions, I think, every Saturday for the rest of the year with Mister Filch.”

Once again, nods all round came from the twelve.

“We are all very, very disappointed in you. Some of you would have made excellent prefects in a couple of years. It’ll take a lot of exemplary work on your part to overcome this if you still want to have any chance of being considered for the position.”

When he was sure that they were suitably cowed, he gave a slight nod.

“You are dismissed.”

-oOoOo-

“Cornelius, do you have a moment?”

The Minister for Magic looked up from his desk at the door, a frown on his face. Really, he didn’t. It was a Saturday and Saturdays he didn’t have to be in the office. He’d only popped in for a moment, which somehow had already turned into nearly an hour.

“Can this wait until Monday?” he asked his Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Not really, Cornelius,” she replied. “I’ll need to give a statement to the press shortly and I think that you’ll really want to know about it before reading it in the _Prophet_.”

“Very well, very well, come in,” he said.

Cornelius watched as Amelia Bones strode confidently into his office before turning and closing the door behind her. Moments later, her wand was in her hand casting silencing and privacy spells.

“What’s this all about?” Cornelius asked after she had taken a seat in front of his desk.

“The short of it is that we caught Harry Potter this morning,” she said.

Cornelius sat back in his chair, a wide grin on his face.

“At long last,” he purred. “I take it the boy is in one of the holding cells?”

“No, he’s not,” Amelia stated.

Cornelius rocketed forward. “Why ever not!”

“There were complications,” Amelia began.

“They’d better be damned good ones,” Cornelius retorted. “What happened?”

“We detected a battle on the Big Board,” Amelia recounted. “By the time that we got there, it was just in time to see Mister Potter being hit with an AK.”

“The boy’s dead?” Cornelius asked, belatedly realising that his joy was far too obvious for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to see – her frown testified to that.

“No. At least, not anymore.”

“He lived? Again?” Cornelius’ voice rose in disbelief.

Amelia nodded. “I don’t know if it was whatever saved him last time or whether it was the muggle healing method that was used on him, but he came back to life after only a couple of minutes.”

Cornelius stared at her, trying to bite back the next question that was fighting its way out of his mouth. Somehow he suspected that he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Did we get who cast it?”

“No. But I was leading a squad of aurors, all of whom saw exactly what happened,” Amelia stated. “It was Lucius Malfoy.”

“Impossible!” Cornelius snapped.

Amelia’s glare deflated his posturing almost before it’d begun. “I assure you, Minister, it was Malfoy. We called for him to drop his wand, but he refused and disapperated before we could stun him. Potter managed to mark him, though. Cut him across his face with a _diffindo._ ”

“He must have been imperioed,” Cornelius tried.

“Imperioed by who?” Amelia snapped. “Yes, thanks to Mister Potter, we know that You-Know-Who isn’t quite dead, just some kind of wraith or spirit, but unless he was being possessed, the man has no defence. And you can rest assured that the instant that I get him on the stand, I’ll be filling him so full of veritaserum that the man will slosh! If you even try to get him off of this, then I’ll have no choice but to launch a full investigation into the Office of the Minister and who knows what skeletons I may uncover!”

Cornelius’ mouth opened and closed, his brain fixated on all of those small bags of galleons that had found their way into his hands over the years, all of those small favours that had been done for him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, deflating in his chair.

“Nothing, Minister. I simply thought that I would do you the courtesy of informing you before I hold my press conference.”

“Where’s Potter now?” he asked, “why isn’t he in a holding cell?”

“A couple of reasons, Minister,” Amelia replied. “Firstly, he was bailed and secondly, I thought that after being hit with an AK _and living through it_ for the second time, he really needed the resources of St. Mungo’s. I believe that Lord Black is taking him there as we speak.”

“And you have a press conference already arranged to announce the details?” Cornelius asked, his political brain finally kicking into gear. At her nod, he rose from behind his desk. “I think that it might be wise for me to accompany you then.”

-oOoOo-

Healer Benjamin Hynds entered the examination room of St. Mungo’s Hospital automatically. He had no need to look where he was going; after all, he’d been working there for close on seventy years and knew the hospital better than even his own home.

What currently had him distracted was the file of the patient that he was going to see. According to it, the patient had recently been hit with the _avada kedavra_ curse and had lived through the ordeal. As far as he was aware, there had only ever been one person to achieve that miraculous impossibility: Harry Potter.

Stopping where he knew the end of the bed was, Healer Hynds looked up at his patient and blinked. And then frowned. Whoever filled out that file really had to do their homework. In his opinion, twelve years was not recent.

“Mister Potter?” he asked, his eyes automatically shooting upwards to see that famous scar.

The teen nodded at him, as did the tall man standing beside him.

“Sirius Black,” the man introduced himself. “I’m Harry’s godfather.”

“Lord Black,” Healer Hynds nodded, shaking the man’s hand.

As far as he knew, the boy was supposed to be lost somewhere after running away, not sitting without a care in the world in the middle of a magical hospital. No matter, his job was to heal, not to worry about the lawful implications of his patients.

“I’m afraid that you’re going to have to tell me what the matter is, whoever filled out this file for you, Mister Potter, seems to have a bit of a sense of humour,” Healer Hynds said.

“Call me Harry,” the teen stated, “and, as to what the matter is, I was hit with an _avarda kedavra_ curse this morning.”

“Again? And you lived?” Healer Hynds blurted.

Harry grinned lopsidedly at him. “Yeah, guess I’ve got a bit of a habit of that, haven’t I?”

“Harry was examined at the DMLE by a Healer Meyer,” Lord Black stated. “She said that his magic levels are fluctuating a bit and that it’d be best if he was examined here.”

Healer Hynds nodded thoughtfully. “Meyer’s a good healer; knows her stuff. Right then, before we begin, you better tell me everything that happened. Make sure you include everything that you felt before, during and after.”

“Well, right before it happened, Malfoy was targeting Dobby,” Harry began. “Uh, Dobby’s my house elf. So I leapt to knock him out of the way. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but the curse hit me on my right shoulder. Here. I think I died, but Hermione’s parents, they’re both muggle dentists, performed CPR on me and brought me back. Then there was this blinding pain that only lasted for a split second, but it was long enough for some black tar-like substance to come out of my old scar and a sort of a greenish mist as well.”

Healer Hynds stared at the boy. Most of what he’d said had made absolutely no sense, at least from a healing point-of-view.

“Perhaps we’d better take it piece by piece,” he said. “If you could lift up your sleeve?”

He watched as the boy did so, revealing unblemished skin. There wasn’t a mark on him, nothing like he’d received from his first survival.

“And what is CPR?” he asked.

The boy frowned. “It’s a muggle thing. It’s where one person breaths for a person who can’t do it for themselves, while a second person pushes on the person’s chest to help get the heart started again. Sorry, but that’s about the best that I can do. I could probably get some muggle books for you that’d give a better explanation.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter, I think that I’d like that, especially if it can help someone survive that abominable curse,” he replied. “Now, let’s have a look at your scar.”

Taking out his wand, he began with waving it over the teen’s shoulder. He couldn’t detect anything from the point of impact from the second killing curse. From there, he moved up to that famous lightning bolt. Once again, there seemed to be nothing to detect. It was simply a scar and a scar that appeared to be rapidly healing at that.

“Whatever happened this morning seems to have finally allowed your scar to begin to start healing. I’d say that within a month, you’ll hardly be able to see it,” he reported.

From there, he moved on to examining the boy’s magical core. Just as had been reported, it was in a state of flux.

“To be honest, Mister Potter, I’m not sure why your core is acting up the way it is,” he regretfully stated while continuing diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell. “If I had to guess, I’d say that there may have been some kind of connection, maybe a power tap of some kind between your core and your old scar and now that it’s gone, your core is realigning itself. Have you ever shown any signs of unusual abilities?”

“I, uh, I can speak parseltongue,” the boy mumbled.

Healer Hynds frowned. “Not quite what I was thinking of, but it’s a start. Nothing else?”

He watched Harry think deeply before shaking his head with a shrug.

“Well, if there is anything, you may find that it manifests itself over the coming months. Or not, of course. It all depends on what that tap was siphoning off from.”

“How long will it take for his core to settle down?” Lord Black asked.

“Hard to say,” Healer Hynds replied. “No more than a week, I’d say. The less magic that you use until then, the better.”

“Well, that won’t be a problem,” Harry replied bitterly. “Madam Bones kept my wand.”

-oOoOo-

_Boy-Who-Lived-Again!_

_by Rita Skeeter_

_Yes, you read it right, readers, the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, has not only been found, but been found in the midst of a battle, a battle that ended with Harry Potter being on the wrong end of another killing curse! And, don’t ask me how he’s done it, but once again, the curse that can kill anyone on contact has once again failed to keep the Boy-Who-Lived down._

_In a statement released yesterday afternoon by Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, Harry Potter was found hiding in southern Scotland after a magical battle was detected as being in progress._

_And who, I hear you ask, was The-Boy-Who-Lived battling? Why, none other than Lord Lucius Malfoy! Exactly how Lord Malfoy discovered the whereabouts of the boy who had been in hiding for eight and a half months is unknown, although there are rumours that Harry Potter was being visited in secret by a number of his friends._

_To answer the question that I’m sure that you’re all dying to know to the answer to: Yes! It was Lord Malfoy that cast that Unforgiveable Curse. There can be no doubt about this, dear readers, for the entire event was witnessed by not only Madam Bones, but also a team of her crack aurors._

_Lucius Malfoy has since been declared a wanted fugitive from the law, while the very sought after Harry Potter was, if you can believe it, released on bail. This, of course, will be the last brief respite for the Boy-Who-Lived – his trial in front of the Wizengamot is slated for March thirty-first. Be assured, dear readers, that I intend on being there for that trial and will bring you the details of Harry Potter’s punishment as quickly as I can._

**_Continued page 2._ **

**_For details of crimes that Lucius Malfoy was accused of after the last Wizarding War, turn to page 3._ **

**_For what to do if you sight the fugitive Lucius Malfoy, turn to page 5._ **

**_To find out exactly how Harry Potter surely survived another killing curse, turn to page 8._ **

Realising that a customer was approaching the counter, Beth Pemberton, lay her paper aside and smiled warmly in greeting. Taking the small pile of books, she began ringing up the total.

“You’ve got to wonder how he did it, don’t you?” the man asked.

Beth looked up at him, only to see him looking down at the picture of Harry on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“How he survived. Again,” the man elaborated.

“I always thought the Potters were Light-minded,” the elderly lady behind him put in her two knut’s worth. “But after this, you’ve got to wonder if the boy’s been dabbling with some Dark ritual or other.”

“Harry Potter is no more Dark than any of us,” Beth retorted heatedly. “I know the boy; he even owns this very shop. There’s no way that he’d ever have anything to do with ‘Dark rituals’.”

“She’s got a point,” a younger woman agreed as she emerged from a nearby bookshelf. “Little Harry Potter got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named all those years ago. And then again a couple of years ago when he was possessing that professor. And no Dark Wizard would ever kill a basilisk like he did.”

Beth looked at the woman gratefully.

“Maybe, maybe,” the man allowed. “But the way the _Prophet’s_ been going on for the last year, it’s hard to believe.”

“Are you telling me that you believe what’s written in that rag?” Beth asked, slapping the paper in question.

“Well, I will admit that the standard has gone up recently,” the elderly lady agreed.

“Read it properly. If you do, you’ll find that it’s Fudge and his lackeys being the only ones talking bad about Harry Potter. And I, for one, never believe a word that any politician ever says,” the young woman stated emphatically.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see what happens at the boy’s trial, then, won’t we?” the man said, ending the conversation by slapping down a dozen coins and stomping out of the used bookstore.


	30. Chapter 30

After a last squeeze of his shoulder by Sirius, Harry turned to face the great oak doors of Courtroom Ten. This, he’d been told, was the largest and most important of all of the courtrooms within the Ministry. It was here that the entire Wizengamot could meet, usually simply to debate policies and procedures, but also to judge the most important of trials.

“Ready?” Julius Tentridge asked from his side.

Harry looked up at the elderly man. His white hair was parted to either side, neatly and precisely, exactly as Harry had come to expect. Today he wore robes of deep blue, trimmed with silver, just like the glasses perched on the end of his nose.

At his nod, Julius reached forward and pushed the door open.

Only the slightest hesitation marked Harry steps as he walked forward, and that was only to glance behind, hoping for one last look at Sirius. His godfather, however, was already gone.

As he stepped into the great circular room, Harry’s head swivelled around and then up. Tiers and tiers of rows stretched upwards towards the great domed ceiling. The lower four rows, he’d been told, were for the Wizengamot members and where Sirius, Cyrus, Madam Longbottom and Horatio Moon would later be found. Above them, encircling the entire chamber, were the tiers for the spectators along with the special box set aside for journalists.

Exactly as he’d been warned to expect, the top rows were already jam-packed, standing room only by the look of it. A dozen or so people were crammed into the journalist’s box, some with notepads, others with cameras and one with a large round microphone pressed to his mouth. Harry grimaced. It seemed that his trial was to be broadcast to the entire wizarding world.

At Julius’ touch, Harry continued moving forward to the very centre of the stone floor. There he found a pair of chairs. The one that Julius immediately sat in was a stiff backed wooden chair, red velvet covering its seat and arms. The other, though, caused a cold shiver to run up his arms and back. It, too, was a high backed wooden chair. But instead of the padded comfort, it was outfitted with a series of chains and shackles.

Reluctantly, Harry moved closer before edging into the seat. The chains rattled ominously at him, but thankfully settled quickly back into place. He wondered whether they’d be instructed to wrap around him later if things went badly.

Finally settled, he looked back up only to find that while the chair had had him preoccupied, the vast majority of the Wizengamot members had filed in.

Harry studied the blood-red robed people with the elaborate double ‘W’s’ on their left breast. Most were old; in fact Sirius looked to be child playing at being an adult compared to most of those that he could see. And Madam Bones and Madam Longbottom were two of only a small handful of women present. Scowls and expressions of annoyance were directed at him and it was all Harry could do to hold onto any sort of hope. Just their very countenance made him think that his guilt was a foregone conclusion.

Nervously, he looked to the side before he felt his heartrate slow slightly. Julius was seated there looking as calm as the day that he visited Potter Haven. He, at least, seemed unbothered by the stares. As Harry looked, he saw Julius’ head turn slightly and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. And then he winked. It was only quick and he doubted that anyone else would have seen it, but it was enough to give Harry hope.

 Finally, when all but a tiny handful of seats on the Wizengamot were filled and the susurration seemed to have reached its peak, the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge rose.

“This session of the Wizengamot, the eighth of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-four on the thirty-first of March, is called to session,” Fudge intoned as he banged his gavel three times.

 At once, the entire chamber fell silent. Harry watched, desperately trying to take everything in, as Fudge looked first to his left at the squat woman who Harry vaguely remembered from his hearing nearly two years before, and then to the tier in front of him, firstly to Madam Bones on his left and thence to a young blonde woman on his right.

“Scribe Hensley, are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” the young woman replied.

“Very well, very well,” Fudge replied, before turning slowly so that all those present could see him. “Members of the Wizengamot. We have only one item on the docket for today – the trial of Harry James Potter.”

The noise level rose immediately as everyone in the chamber seemed to find it necessary to whisper to the person seated beside them. A sharp bang of his gavel by Fudge brought the room back to quietness.

“Scribe Hensley, please read the charges against Mister Potter,” Fudge instructed.

Harry squirmed slightly in his chair as the young woman rose.

“Harry James Potter,” she read, “is charged with breaching the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic, specifically on the thirtieth of June, in the year nineteen hundred and ninety-three at King’s Cross Station; with endangering the Statute of Secrecy, also on the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three at King’s Cross Station; with failing to comply with the directions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, namely surrendering himself following the events of the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three at King’s Cross Station; and with Truancy.”

Once again, the courtroom, whispers erupted around the courtroom like a window had just been thrown open allowing the wind to whip inside.

“Madam Bones, are you prepared to prosecute your case?” Fudge asked.

“I am,” she replied, standing in her place.

“Who stands in defence of the accused?” Fudge asked, his eyes fixed on Julius.

“I, Julius Tentridge, do so stand for the defence, Minister,” Julius stated, his voice, even though spoken no louder than normal, carried clearly in the chamber for all to hear.

“Very well, very well, Madam Bones, the floor is yours,” Fudge said, waving an arm to emphasise his point.

Harry watched as Madam Bones turned in place to give a simple nod to the Minister before turning back to face him.

“As there are a multitude of charges,” she began, “and after much discussion, it has been decided that each charge shall be dealt with individually.” After glancing down at her notes, she looked back up, her piercing blue eyes boring into Harry. “We will begin with the charge of breaching the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic, specifically on the thirtieth of June, in the year nineteen hundred and ninety-three at King’s Cross Station.

“As has been well documented within the Wizarding World, particularly after the trial of Albus Dumbledore in relation to this matter, the details of this event should be fairly well known. For those who do not know, it was reported by multiple witnesses that, after disembarking from the Hogwarts’ Express and entering the muggle section of King’s Cross Station, an altercation between Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore ended in Harry Potter blasting a sphere of magic that knocked everyone present within a radius of forty feet off of their feet.

“Aurors and Obliviators were called to deal with the aftermath of the event of Mister Potter’s underage magic. One individual, namely Mister Dumbledore, was also injured severely enough to warrant a stay in St. Mungo’s.”

“Mister Potter. How do you plead?” Minister Fudge asked.

As instructed and as much as it was killing him to do so, Harry remained silent.

“My client pleads not guilty, Minister,” Julius stated clearly, having risen from his seat.

“ _Hem hem._ How can he be ‘not guilty’ when he was seen by so many others committing the crime?” the Minister’s Undersecretary asked. “The boy even has a history _and a record_ of performing magic whenever he feels like it!”

“Minister, Madam Bones, Madam Umbridge,” Julius began, and Harry finally remembered the woman-who-resembled-a-toad’s name. “Before I begin speaking to the case at hand, I feel, due to Madam Umbridge’s comments, that it is important to elucidate for those present exactly what her comments were referring to.

“It is true that Mister Potter was brought before the Department of Improper Use of Magic for two violations of the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic, specifically on the twenty-ninth of August, nineteen ninety-two, in relation to two instances of detected magic. Both of these matters were explained by Mister Potter to the satisfaction of the convening panel and resulted in Mister Potter being issued with a warning and a note being placed in his official Ministerial file.”

“What did he do?” a voice called from somewhere in the third tier.

Julius turned slightly to face the direction that the voice had come from. “The first instance of magic that was detected was a levitation charm that was, in fact, performed by a house elf. At that time, the elf in question was owned by Lucius Malfoy.”

“A house elf?” a second voice mocked.

“Indeed. The elf in question, Dobby, is currently in the employ of Mister Potter and can be brought here within moments to testify if that is required,” Julius replied, before, after a moment of silence, continuing. “The second instance of magic was when Mister Potter accidentally cast a magical vow. This vow also happens to form the main thrust of Mister Potter’s defence against the current charge.”

“Please elaborate,” Fudge instructed.

Julius inclined his head. “The essence of Mister Potter’s magical vow was that he would rather give up his magic than spend another night at Privet Dive with the Dursleys. The Dursleys are Mister Potter’s relatives and Privet Drive is the location of their residence.

“On the afternoon in question, Mister Potter was approached by Albus Dumbledore and informed that he would be returning to Privet Drive to live with his relatives. Mister Potter knew that this would result in him losing his magic and, after Mister Dumbledore insisted and even laid hands upon Mister Potter, Mister Potter’s magic reacted to defend itself.

“Clause Seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Magic states that magic can be used in exceptional circumstances, including situations when the life of the witch or wizard is threatened, or the lives of other witches, wizards and Muggles are threatened. I submit that this includes that loss of a witch or wizard’s magic. Mister Potter’s magic reacted in the only way that it could in order to defend itself from what he considered a life-threatening situation.”

Murmurs broke out all around the chamber at Julius’ statement. As Harry watched, he could see numerous heads nodding, a sign that he took to mean that they agreed.

“Your argument is very persuasive,” Madam Bones stated, “and it is indeed true that the clause you mentioned can be interpreted that way. I do have one or two follow up questions for Mister Potter in relation to this matter, though.”

Harry straightened slightly in his chair as Julius passed in front of him before coming to stand at his side, one hand resting on the back of his chair.

“Mister Potter. There is no doubt that you performed the magic in question,” Madam Bones stated. “What I am wondering, though, is firstly, what were you feeling right before it happened?”

Harry dropped his head, thinking back to that day so very long ago. “I remember feeling annoyed. I was trying to have a conversation with my friend and Dumbledore interrupted us and refused to move away so that Hermione and I could finish it. I remember feeling panicked and scared when he grabbed my arm and … and desperate, I think, when he started to pull me towards that pillar, away from everyone.”

Madam Bones nodded. “Secondly, did you purposefully cast that spell?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Ma’am. All I was trying to do was to get away. I didn’t have my wand or staff in my hand and I didn’t even know that I could do something like that.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter,” she said, before turning to the Minister and giving him a small nod.

Lifting his wand, Fudge conjured a pair of large clear bubbles that he floated out into the centre of the courtroom.

“The charge is the breaching of the Decree for the Restrictions of Underage Magic,” Fudge stated. “If you believe that Mister Potter is not guilty, please cast a jet of magic into the left bubble and a jet of magic into the right bubble if you believe that he is guilty.”

Harry watched as nearly a hundred witches and wizards raised their wands and shot a stream of magic across the chamber. Even before it was officially stated, Harry knew the outcome.

“Not guilty!” Fudge intoned, banging his gavel.

At his nod, Madam Bones turned to Harry once more.

“The second charge laid against Mister Potter is ‘endangering the Statute of Secrecy, also on the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three at King’s Cross Station’.”

Before she could say any more, Julius interrupted her.

“If I may, Madam Bones, I will clearly state that we attest that Clause Seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Magic applies to this charge as well.”

Harry watched as Madam Bones and Minister Fudge quickly conferred with each other.

“Mister Tentridge is correct,” Fudge eventually stated. “The Decree specifically has Clause Seven to cater for these types of situations where the life of an underage witch or wizard is threatened. As we have already determined that Mister Potter is innocent of performing underage magic due to the circumstances involved, we must also declare him innocent of this charge.”

A general murmur of agreement swept through the chamber before Fudge banged his gavel.

“Madam Bones?” he said, indicating for her to move on.

“Mister Potter, you have been further charged with failing to comply with the directions of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, namely surrendering yourself following the events of the thirtieth of June, nineteen ninety-three at King’s Cross Station,” she stated. “No less than thirty-seven directives were owled to you over the course of eight and a half months, all of which were ignored by yourself.”

“How do you plead?” Fudge asked.

“Mister Potter pleads guilty, Minister,” Julius stated. “The only defence that he offers in this matter is that he feared that he would be returned to his relatives’ care if he surrendered himself to the DMLE.”

“That is no defence at all. Mister Potter was directed to comply with a duly authorised directive and has been declared guilty by his own admission,” Fudge stated clearly. “The penalty for this offence is five hundred galleons. Per directive ignored.”

Harry’s eyes widened. _Eighteen thousand, five hundred galleons_ wasn’t something that he could dismiss lightly or easily.

“If Mister Potter is unable to pay this amount, he will serve time in a DMLE holding cell equivalent to ten days per offence,” Fudge continued, eliciting a pleased nod and smirk from Undersecretary Umbridge seated beside him.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he had more than enough to pay the fine in his trust account. Oh, he knew that Sirius would pay it for him if he needed him to, but Harry wasn’t about to let him.

“That brings us to the next charge,” Madam Bones stated after Fudge had banged his gavel continuously for nearly a minute to bring the courtroom back into a semblance of quiet. “Truancy. The law outlined by the Wizengamot of seventeen forty-one states that all magical children between the ages of eleven and sixteen must learn how to control their magical abilities in a safe and controlled environment. They are required to be registered with the Ministry’s Department of Magical Education as receiving magical tuition from either Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or another educational facility or by an appropriate, registered tutor.

“After the … incident of June thirty of last year, Mister Potter was subsequently expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A check was made by the Department of Magical Education into Mister Potter’s education on the second of September where it was discovered that he was not registered as receiving any form of formal education. This has not changed in the intervening time.”

“Mister Potter, on the charge of Truancy, how do you plead?” Fudge asked.

“Mister Potter pleads not guilty, Minister,” Julius replied, causing the murmurs to start up again.

“The law is clear in this case,” Madam Bones stated clearly. “Every child must either be enrolled in Hogwarts or be registered with the Department of Magical Education as receiving tuition by a registered tutor. Mister Potter was neither.”

Julius stepped forward, drawing all eyes onto him.

“In defence of this charge, we have a number of witnesses that we wish to call,” he stated.

“Very well, very well,” Fudge stated quickly, “call your first.”

“We call Hermione Granger to the courtroom.”

Harry swivelled around in shock. He thought that he knew exactly the strategy that Julius was going to use and exactly who he was planning to call to testify on his behalf. But not once had he ever mentioned Hermione being one of them.

He watched as the door behind his chair opened and a familiar brown-eyed girl hesitantly walked in. Her hair was as wild and untamed as ever, although it looked as though she’d attempted to put it into a pony tail, not that it seemed overly successful. As she walked across the floor, she shot him the tiniest of looks before fixing her eyes on the chair that Julius had previously used.

Once she was seated, Julius conjured a small table, placed his briefcase upon it and opened it to reveal a stack of parchment inside.

“Good morning, Miss Granger, thank you for coming today,” Julius began, prompting a small smile from her. “Miss Granger, you are a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, correct?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m a third year,” she replied.

“And you know Mister Potter quite well, don’t you?” Julius asked.

“Yes. Harry and I are in the same year, in Gryffindor together and I was Harry’s best friend.”

Harry blanched. ‘Was’? What did she mean by that? She was his best friend. He opened his mouth to question her but a slight shake of Julius’ head snapped his mouth closed.

“Could you identify this for me please?” Julius asked, handing Hermione a piece of paper.

“This is Harry’s timetable,” she replied.

“Could you elaborate?”

“Harry used this to keep track of his time and to remind himself of what subjects he was studying while he was hidden away from the rest of us,” she replied.

Taking back the piece of paper, Julius performed an intricate wave of his wand on it. A bright white light lit up above his head and Harry twisted around to get a better look at it. What he saw was a projection of the timetable displayed so that everyone in the room could see it.

“These are all the subjects that Mister Potter has been studying?” Julius clarified.

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“How do you know this?” he asked.

“I’ve been writing to Harry all year. He’s been telling me about what he’s been learning,” she replied, before slightly chewing on her bottom lip. “And I’ve been helping him learn some of it.”

“How?”

“I’ve been sending Harry all of my class notes and assignments,” she replied.

“Just you, Miss Granger?”

“No. Some of our friends have been doing the same thing. We split up our classes to make it easier,” she elaborated.

“Are you saying that between you and your friends, you all study the same subjects as Mister Potter?” Julius asked.

“No. Harry’s been studying some extra ones on his own. Like Enchanting and Beginning Healing.”

“And what does Mister Potter do with all of the information that you and your friends send him?”

“He studies it. He even does the assignments and sends them back to us,” Hermione told him.

“Even using the notes that you and your friends send him, how can Mister Potter learn some of these subjects? Care of Magical Creatures for example. Wouldn’t he need to be able to see the creatures in order to learn it properly?” Julius asked.

Hermione smiled at him. “Of course. That’s why he’s got a special enclosure at his place for his animals.”

“How do you know that?” Julius asked.

“I’ve seen them,” Hermione replied, “Nifflers and bowtruckles and mokes and even a couple of diricawls and lots of others.”

“Having seen Mister Potter’s timetable and spoken to him and seen where he was studying and read his assignments, do you believe that he has been getting as good of an education as the one that you have been getting at Hogwarts, Miss Granger?” Julius asked.

“No, Sir, I don’t. I actually believe that it’s been better,” Hermione stated emphatically.

“Thank you, Miss Granger, you’re free to go,” Julius smiled.

Harry watched her hop up before scurrying away through the door, not once even looking in his direction.

“We call Professor Minerva McGonagall to the courtroom,” Julius stated.

This time the door opened to allow entry to the strict, elderly woman who strode across the courtroom floor, her head held high and her back ramrod straight.

Julius waited for her to take her seat before beginning his questions.

“Professor McGonagall, could you please state how you know Mister Potter?”

“I’ve been Mister Potter’s teacher for the past three years. I am also one of his magical guardians,” she replied.

“You just said that you’ve been Mister Potter’s teacher for the past three years,” Julius pointed out. “However, Mister Potter has only attended Hogwarts for two years. How do you account for that discrepancy?”

“Mister Potter may not have been in my classroom this year, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t continued to teach him,” she stated.

“If he wasn’t in your classroom or even at Hogwarts, then how could you have been teaching him?” Julius asked.

“I received a number of letters from Mister Potter asking for help. Occasionally, he would include a wizarding photograph of himself for me to critique. I have also marked quite a number of assignments completed by himself,” she replied.

“You marked his assignments?” Julius asked.

“Aye. Every now and then an extra assignment would turn up in my pile of third year Transfiguration assignments. It was unnamed but I’d know the chicken scratch that Mister Potter calls writing anywhere,” she told him.

“If you knew that these assignments were from Mister Potter and that Mister Potter is not a student of Hogwarts, why did you mark them?”

“I’m a teacher. I’ve been a teacher for close to forty years and if a student is willing to do the work, then I’m more than willing to mark it and help them in every way that I can,” she stated emphatically.

“Were you the only Hogwarts’ professor to receive assignments from Mister Potter?” Julius asked.

“No. Filius Flitwick and Remus Lupin did as well,” she confessed.

“And did they mark it?”

“They did.”

“If you were an active teacher of Mister Potter, not to mention being his guardian, why didn’t you report yourself as Mister Potter’s tutor to the Department of Magical Education?” Julius asked.

Miinerva’s lips thinned dangerously. “I tried. They wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of the questions on the form asked where he would be studying and since I didn’t know where Mister Potter was, I couldn’t fill that out and therefore the form was rejected.”

“So, it is your belief that even though Mister Potter was not a student of Hogwarts, he was under proper magical instruction,” Julius clarified.

“Indeed,” Minerva nodded.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Minerva stood, nodded once to Harry and then to the Minister before turning and striding from the chamber.

“How many more of these do you have?” Fudge asked. “All you’re doing is showing that Mister Potter was attempting to study on his own and suckering others in to ‘helping’ him.”

“Just the one more, Minister,” Julius answered calmly, in direct contrast to how Harry was feeling. He could see that these testimonies, as wonderful as they were, were having zero effect on the members of the Wizengamot.

“I call Madam Griselda Marchbanks to the courtroom,” Julius stated.

Harry turned to see an ancient witch hobble into the room. She was rather short, but more with age as opposed to the short toad seated beside the Minister. Harry knew that she was incredibly tough but fair and underneath her sometimes crusty exterior, had a soft heart of gold.

“Thank you for coming today, Madam Marchbanks,” Julius said once she was seated.

She nodded once and looked at him expectantly.

“Madam Marchbanks, you are the Governor of the Wizarding Examining Authority, correct?”

“Yes, for the last one hundred and ten years,” she replied.

“Can you explain how you know Mister Potter?” Julius asked.

“Mister Potter and I have been spending many hours together each day over the past week and a half,” she replied.

“And why is that, Madam Marchbanks?”

“I have been spending each day testing Mister Potter in all of the subject areas that he claims to have been studying this year,” she replied.

“Could you please share Mister Potter’s results with us?”

“I tested Mister Potter in both theory and practice. Mister Potter displayed magic and knowledge appropriate for someone at the _end_ of their third year of magical education in every area that he has been studying apart from two, which as you know is some months in advance of where his peers are currently situated. Of the others, in History of Magic, I would place Mister Potter as being equivalent to half-way through fourth year. And in Muggle Studies, I awarded Mister Potter an Outstanding at OWL level.”

The courtroom erupted. For a third year to be awarded an OWL was all but unheard of. Harry, too, was just as flabbergasted, but then, it _was_ Muggle Studies and he was muggle-raised.

“Are you seriously telling us that that boy already has an OWL?” Madam Umbridge asked incredulously.

“I am,” Madam Marchbanks stated, her eyes blazing at the insinuation that she was mistaken.

While Fudge banged his gavel, Julius thanked Madam Marchbanks and ushered her out of the chamber.

“As enlightening as Mister Trentridge’s ‘witnesses’ have been, and as happy as I’m sure we all are, about Mister Potter’s seeming continued education, it is all ultimately irrelevant,” Fudge stated. “We need to determine the punishment for the guilt that Mister Potter has already admitted to the charge of Truancy.”

“He’s guilty! Fine him or incarcerate him. This is already taking far too long!” a man from half-way around the second tier shouted, a sentiment that was immediately agreed with by those around him.

“Mister Potter has been studying,” Madam Longbottom retorted. “And it seems that a single question on a form is the only reason that the law was not followed.”

“The law was not followed,” Madam Umbridge stated. “The full punishment must be enforced or others will try to emulate Potter.”

Harry’s eyes flicked backwards and forwards, up and down, as he attempted to follow the debate. Finally, after more than fifteen minutes, Fudge seemed to have had enough, banging his gavel to restore order. As soon as the room had quieted, he conjured a pair of spheres and floated them out into the centre of the chamber.

“It is time to judge,” he stated. “If you believe that Mister Potter should be punished to the full extent of the law, a penalty of one thousand galleons, send a jet of magic into the sphere on my right. If , however, you believe that he deserves some leniency, direct your magic to the sphere on my left.”

Harry watched as wands came up, not quite in unison, before they began shooting jets of magic across the room. Slowly, the colours of the twin spheres began to change. Pinks and then reds blossomed in both spheres. The vote looked to be close. Very close. Finally, the tally was in.

“By a margin of forty-nine to forty-four, the vote is for leniency,” Fudge reported. “Mister Potter. You are guilty of Truancy. As such, you are fined four hundred galleons and ordered to immediately either re-enrol in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or to register the tutor that you will use to continue your education.”

As the murmurs started up, a large man who vaguely reminded Harry of Gregory Goyle stood in the fourth tier.

“What about what happened with Lucius Malfoy?” he called. “Potter performed even more magic then. Is he going to get away with that as well?”

Harry watched as Madam Bones turned in place to pin the man in place with her gaze.

“There are no charges against Mister Potter for what happened that day,” she stated. “We had multiple witnesses attesting to the fact that Mister Malfoy cast the first curse and that, as has already been shown in this trial, Mister Potter was more than justified in performing magic in a life-threatening situation. And after getting hit with an _avada kedavra_ , I’d say that his life had definitely been in jeopardy. Make no mistake – the only one guilty of the events from that day is Lucius Malfoy. And he will be judged accordingly as soon as we catch him.”

The man plonked down in his seat, his face turned away.

“Mister Potter,” Fudge said, drawing attention back onto himself, “your trial is over. Make sure that you pay your fines and visit the Department of Magical Education before you leave the building.”

With a nod, Harry cautiously got to his feet. At Julius’ gesture, the two quick-stepped out of the chamber, leaving the members of the Wizengamot to whatever business they had yet to discuss.


	31. Chapter 31

The Atrium of the Ministry of Magic erupted the instant that the lift containing Harry and Julius rose into sight. Even before the doors had opened, Harry was being peppered with questions.

“Where have you been hiding out?”

“What do you think of the fines?”

“Is it true that you battled with Lucius Malfoy?”

“How did you survive another killing curse?”

“Are you going back to Hogwarts now that your name is cleared?”

“What are you real feelings towards Albus Dumbledore and the way he tried to force you to return to your relatives?”

Harry tentatively stepped forward, keeping so close to Julius that his shoulder was basically rubbing against the elderly man’s shoulder. Flashes blossomed around him and gusts of purple smoke billowed out above the crowd. To one side, the man with the microphone from the Wizarding Wireless Network was holding it out, obviously hoping to have Harry’s voice transmitted over the airwaves.

“If you’ll all kindly step back and allow Mister Potter some space, we’ll issue a short statement before Mister Potter answers a few questions,” Julius stated.

Immediately, the dozen or so journalists shuffled backwards, providing a small half-circle of clearance away from the lift.

Harry’d known that this was coming – Julius had warned him that the ‘vultures were sure to be waiting’ – but it was still incredibly unnerving to be surrounded so tightly by so many people. Especially after living for so long with just Dobby around for company.

Julius cleared his throat, causing instant silence.

“Mister Potter is extremely pleased that the drama of the past eight months has finally been put to rest. Today’s trial was the chance for him to set the record straight. Yes, he performed accidental magic in a muggle area, but it was only in defence of himself. Albus Dumbledore was threatening Mister Potter’s very magic and we are extremely pleased that the court realised this fact and voted him non-guilty. As for the truancy charge, it was a mere technicality that caused Mister Potter to fall afoul of the Ministry’s directives, a technicality that we will be rectifying before we leave the Ministry today.”

The instant that he paused, the first question was sent Harry’s way.

“Mister Potter, Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter,” a green-robed woman with horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose identified herself. “What do you think of the exorbitant fines that were levelled at you today?”

“Um,” Harry began, sneaking a glance up at Julius’ face, “I know I was guilty and deserved a fine, but I didn’t think it’d be quite that much.”

“Markus Waynesbury, also from the _Daily Prophet_ ,” the man beside Rita Skeeter said. “It was revealed that you were awarded an Outstanding OWL in Muggle Studies. It’s obvious that you’ve been putting a lot of work into continuing your magical education. Is it your intention to return to Hogwarts or to continue studying on your own?”

“I’d rather not answer that question just yet,” Harry replied.

“Just where have you been hiding out?” one of the men in the back called.

Harry looked up to see Julius give him a slight nod. “My place is called Potter Haven but I’m afraid that its location has to stay secret.”

“Harry, is it true that you fought Lucius Malfoy and survived another killing curse?”

“Yes,” he nodded simply, not giving away any extra information, just as he’d been coached.

“How did you survive it?” Rita Skeeter purred. “Do you have some extra special powers that the rest of us don’t?”

Harry shrugged. “I honestly don’t know and neither do the Healers at St. Mungo’s.”

“Harry, I understand that you gathered a number of exotic creatures to study at your hideaway. Is there any truth to the rumour that you’ve got a crumple-horned snorkack hidden away there?”

Looking to his left, Harry smiled at the tall man with the slightly crossed eyes. “Sorry, Mister Lovegood. I didn’t come across any of those when I was out looking for magical creatures.”

“I think that we’ll have to leave it there, ladies and gentlemen,” Julius interrupted. “We’ve still got a number of things that we have to do before Mister Potter is allowed to leave the Ministry.”

Ignoring the extra questions still being thrown at them, Harry felt Julius grasp his shoulder and guide him through the crowd and across the large marble floor.

“Well done, Harry,” Julius murmured as they were walking. “Give them a little and make them feel that you’ve answered their questions and they’re more likely to leave you alone than if you simply ignore them.”

Harry nodded at the advice, fervently hoping – while knowing that he was deluding himself – that he’d never have to deal with journalists again in his life.

Finally they approached a door emblazoned with _Department of Magical Education_ in gold letters above it. Julius opened the door for him and he entered, only to pull up short at the sight of the man waiting inside.

“Ah, Harry, my boy,” Albus Dumbledore smiled, peering over his half-moon spectacles at the location of Harry’s rapidly fading scar.

“Headmaster,” Harry returned with a stiff nod before attempting to sidle around the flamboyantly dressed wizard.

“I trust that you’re here to re-enrol in Hogwarts now that that silly misunderstanding has been cleared up?” Dumbledore inquired airily.

Harry felt Julius’ hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze slightly. Theoretically, he knew that this was a signal to leave the talking to the older man, but after what the long-bearded jerk had tried to do to him, Harry couldn’t resist answering.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted. “I’ve been doing just fine on my own. Why would I want to return to that musty old castle?”

“Ah, but Harry, you know that there’s no substitute for learning with one’s peers,” Dumbledore pointed out.

Harry nodded in reluctant agreement. “True, I do miss my friends, but you’ve got to admit that getting an Outstanding OWL in third year in one subject, being nearly nine months ahead of my Hogwarts peers in another subject and three months ahead in a bunch of others, means that I’m getting a better education my way. Not to mention that I’m learning subjects that your school doesn’t even teach anymore.”

“Regardless of your successes so far, which I congratulate you most heartily on by the way, I’m certain that you will find that a more structured program will be most beneficial for your education.” When Harry failed to respond, he continued. “Well, if we cannot entice you back to our hallowed halls now, perhaps September would be a better time, hmm?”

“We’ll see,” Harry muttered, more than eager to finish the conversation.

“Come along, Harry, we’ve some business that needs completing,” Julius interrupted smoothly.

With twin nods at the old man, Julius and Harry stepped around him and ventured up the corridor where they knew Sirius and Minerva should be waiting for them.

-oOoOo-

“Harry! Sirius! Come in, come in.”

Harry smiled nervously up at Emma Granger as he stepped through the front door. Just inside the entry, he stopped and looked back at her.

“Is … is Hermione here?” he asked.

“Of course, just let me go and get her for you,” Emma smiled, leading the two towards the front sitting room.

“Hello there, Harry. Sirius,” Dan Granger greeted, laying aside his book and standing up, hand outstretched.

Sirius immediately strode forth and clasped hands with the man. “Good to see you, Dan. Harry here wanted a word with Hermione. Emma’s gone to get her.”

Dan’s eyes turned on Harry. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. Maybe you can get through to her.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he frowned in puzzlement. So there _was_ something wrong with Hermione. He’d thought so after the strange way that she’d avoided even looking at him during the trial. Not to mention _that_ comment. And that, combined with the way that she’d disappeared without even seeing him afterwards, simply screamed that there was something wrong with his best friend.

Faint sounds of an argument drifted down the staircase, catching Harry’s attention.

“She doesn’t usually come home for the Easter holidays,” Dan continued as Harry’s eyes turned upwards. “But with that farce of a trial being the day before Good Friday, it was the perfect chance for us to get her home for a few days.”

The sound of steps on the stairs drew Harry’s attention, only to be disappointed to find Emma coming back down alone. He noted a look pass between the elder Grangers, a look that he couldn’t identify.

“Where’s Hermione?” he asked tentatively.

“She’s upstairs in her room,” Emma said gently. “She _says_ that she’s too tired to come down.”

Something in her voice narrowed Harry’s eyes. “I really do need to talk to her. Would you mind if I went up to her?”

“That’d be wonderful, Harry,” Emma beamed. “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

“Leave the door open,” Dan called as his foot touched the first step.

Looking back, Harry gave a nod before focussing ahead.

He hesitated in front of the appropriate door for an instant before gathering his courage and knocking.

“I said, ‘no’!” Hermione yelled through the closed door.

“Hermione?” he called.

Silence reigned from the room for a long time, causing him to shift nervously from one foot to the other.

“Hermione?” he tried, knocking a second time.

And then, after another minute’s silence. “What’s wrong, Hermione? Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Just … just go away, Harry,” a small voice that he could hardly make out eventually replied.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m not leaving here until you talk to me,” he told her.

A small _click_ indicated the door unlocking before it eased open a fraction. When nothing else happened, Harry placed his hand on the handle.

“I’m coming in, Hermione.”

Harry pushed on the door, his eyes taking in the Hermione-ness of the room. The walls were painted a soft cream, helping to highlight the deep green curtains. A large desk bracketed by floor to ceiling bookshelves stuffed full of books and knickknacks took up the wall to the right, while against the opposite wall, there was a double bed filled with dozens of comfy cushions in a rainbow of colours. Half hidden amongst those pillows, a face peeked out at him.

Harry smiled nervously at his best friend. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, a pile of pillows in front of her. Her wonderful brown hair seemed to be inexplicitly bushier than ever.

“Hi,” he said softly.

When she didn’t return the greeting, Harry turned around, snagged the chair at her desk and rolled it across the room.

“What’s up, Hermione?” he asked, sitting in front of her.

Now that he was closer, he could see that her chocolate eyes were almost lost in the puffiness around them. He leant forward and reached out, only to have her shy away from him.

“Hermione?” he questioned.

A small sigh escaped her. “You … you should go, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes rounded. “Why? What’s the matter, Hermione? You know that we can tell each other anything.”

At this she shook her head. “Just go, Harry.”

“I’m not leaving my best friend when something’s obviously really wrong,” he retorted stubbornly.

“No, Harry, I’m not worth being friends with,” she replied, shaking her head violently.

Harry frowned at her. “What? Why in the world would you say something stupid like that?”

“It’s not stupid, Harry!” she all but yelled. “I’m not good enough to be your friend. I’m stupid and selfish and a good-for-nothing bossy know-it-all.”

“You are not!” Harry argued. “You’re a wonderfully caring person and my best friend.”

Once again, Hermione shook her head. “Harry, because of me, Lucius Malfoy found you and killed you.”

Harry spread his arms wide. “Sorry to disappoint, Hermione, but I’m not dead. And as for Malfoy, well, someone was bound to find me eventually.”

“But it was my stupid idea to come and see you,” she retorted. “I was too bloody selfish. All I was thinking about was _my_ need to see you. I didn’t stop to think about what could happen. I told others where you were and led Malfoy straight to you. If I’d simply left things alone, you’d never have been put into danger.”

 Finally, Harry understood what was going on. Hermione was blaming herself for everything.

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit that it probably wasn’t the best idea for you guys to come to Potter Haven,” he began hesitantly, “but do you have any idea how much it meant to me that you wanted to see me? I’ve missed you … all of you, so very much and, even though things went a bit … pear-shaped there the second time, I wouldn’t change the fact that you came to see me for anything.”

Harry studied her face, but her blank mask was impossible to read.

“And if you want to blame someone,” he continued, “then you can blame me, too. I’m the one who said that it was alright for you guys to come that second time.”

“Only because I guilted you into it.”

“Do you really think that you can manipulate me that easily?” he smiled.

The corners of Hermione’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but it didn’t take that much persuasion. I really, really wanted to see you and spend the day with you again as well.”

“Really?” she asked, the barest hint of hope in her voice.

“Of course. You’re my best friend. I _like_ spending time with you, and getting to talk to you face to face is so much better than simply writing to each other.”

“But Malfoy …” she began.

Harry waved her argument away. “Doesn’t matter. It was less than two weeks until the trial when I would have had to leave Potter Haven anyway.”

“You really … you really don’t blame me?” Hermione asked.

“You’re my best friend, Hermione. Let’s just say that we both made mistakes and leave it at that, okay?” he replied.

Slowly a smile spread across her face even as her eyes seemed to clear and begin to sparkle again. Then, without warning, Harry found himself toppling off of the chair, her arms wrapped around him, her face buried in his neck.

Chuckling together, the two untangled themselves and sat up on the floor.

“Now what’s this about getting an OWL already?” Hermione asked intently, squeezing the hand that she’d latched on to for emphasis.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “It was _Muggle Studies_ , Hermione, a first year muggleborn could get an OWL in that.”

Neither noticed Emma’s smiling face peeking through the door a short while later at the two teens still holding hands and talking away animatedly, comparing notes on their experiences with the day’s trial.

-oOoOo-

_Minister’s Conspiracy: Just What Is He Hiding? By Rita Skeeter_

_For the past eight months, the Wizarding community has been repeatedly assured that Harry Potter was a menace to our way of life and a danger to the Statute of Secrecy. The Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, in conjunction with his Undersecretary, Delores Umbridge, have been almost weekly calling for the arrest of The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. And more than that, they have been advocating for Harry Potter to have his wand snapped, his magic bound and his memories of our world erased._

_And if this wasn’t enough, at the very trial that cleared our young hero of all wrong-doing, the Minister for Magic took the opportunity to fine Harry Potter the heaviest that anyone in our community has been fined for the past thirteen years. And what was the crime that Harry Potter was fined for? Why simply for failing to surrender himself to the Ministry, a Ministry that was advocating for his magical death._

_Nearly twenty thousand galleons is a not so small fortune for most of us and even for the Scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, it must surely put a sizeable dent into the inheritance left to young Harry by his heroic parents who tragically fell to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, leaving the boy orphaned in the world._

_For any other person guilty of this crime, a fine one tenth would have been expected, but not so for Harry Potter. No, Cornelius Fudge imposed a much harsher penalty. And what would have happened to Harry if he couldn’t pay that exorbitant amount? Why, simply gaol time. If I was the one who had been treated this way, I would be fleeing for the hills, never to return to magical Britain as long as I live._

_The question must be asked: what does the Minister for Magic have against The-Boy-Who-Lived? Why call for having his magic bound and the boy obliviated? And why such a ridiculous fine?_

Dropping the newspaper onto his desk, Cornelius Fudge buried his face in his hands.

“Tea, Cornelius?” Delores’ simpering voice asked as she waltzed into his office.

Fudge looked up and scowled at her. “No! No, I don’t want tea. We’re facing the hounds at the moment, Delores. We don’t have time for tea!”

He saw her glance at the _Daily Prophet_ on his desk before dismissing it.

“Don’t worry about it, Cornelius, it’ll all blow over in a week or two.”

Fudge stared unbelievingly at her. “How do you figure that? Even now, Amelia is sniffing around, Black and Longbottom are gathering supporters for a vote of no-confidence and Greengrass is allowing Rita Skeeter to print whatever she wants about us.”

“We’ve survived worse,” Umbridge sniffed. “A few _donations_ in the right places and their plots will come to nothing.”

“And exactly where will these ‘donations’ come from?” Fudge asked.

“The usual places, I’m sure,” Umbridge simpered.

“The usual places? The usual places!” Fudge spluttered. “There are no more ‘usual places’! Most of that money came from Lucius, but that well’s dried up.”

“I’m sure that once that misunderstanding’s been cleared up …”

Fudge slammed his fists onto his desk, cutting her off. “There’s no ‘misunderstanding’, Delores! Lucius cast a killing curse – and hit, mind you – at The-Boy-Who-Lived in front of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There’s no coming back from that. Once he’s caught, the only question that there’ll be about Lucius Malfoy is whether he’ll be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban or if he’ll be Kissed instead.”

Umbridge blinked at him and Fudge seriously wondered whether she was even capable of understanding something not going the way she expected.

“But with a little well-placed money,” she began again.

“There is no more money! Why do you think I fined Potter as much as I did? I’d have even upped the amounts if I thought that I could get away with it,” Fudge admitted.

“Cornelius …”

“No, Delores,” he interrupted before dropping his head, bringing that Merlin-be-damned article into his eyesight.

This, he knew, would only be the start. And with Umbridge the way she was, he doubted that he’d be able to survive politically.

“We’re going to have to do something if we want to stay in office,” he said slowly. “Some … restructuring.”

Lifting his head, he took in the short, squat woman standing on the other side of his desk.

“Delores. We’re going to have to lie low if we want to survive this. I think that it’d be best if, at least for a while, we weren’t in the same office,” Fudge stated.

“Whatever do you mean, Cornelius?” she asked in her high girly voice.

“I mean … I mean that I’m going to transfer you to the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” he explained. “Work with Barty Crouch. You know that he’s got a lot going on at the moment, coordinating between the French and the Bulgarians while pacifying the Spanish and Germans. He could use someone of your talents, helping him manage our special project. And, if we can pull the Tournament off, it’ll help shore up our political position.”

Delores stared at him before slowly blinking. “Of course, Cornelius. Whatever you think is best.”

-oOoOo-

 Hermione had barely stepped down from the carriage that had brought her back to Hogwarts when she was surrounded by a large group of people. Most were Gryffindors, although there were a sprinkling of each of the other Houses as well in the crowd.

“You’re finally back!” Lavender exclaimed.

“But where’s Harry?” Parvati asked, peering past her into the carriage.

Hermione sighed. She guessed that she should have expected this. She _was_ considered the expert on all things Harry Potter.

“He’s not coming,” she said.

“What do ya mean he’s not coming?” Seamus asked. “We’ve cleared out his old space ready for his bed and everything.”

“I’m sorry guys, but Harry’s not coming back to Hogwarts,” she repeated.

“What? Just now or ever?” Justin asked.

Hermione bit her lip. She suspected that she knew the answer to that, but until Harry had actually made up his mind and told her, then she wasn’t going to announce her suspicions.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she told the group.

“Well, it’s not unexpected now, is it?” Luna pointed out. “And after everything he’s been learning at Potter Haven, why would he want to come back?”

“But what about us?” Susan asked in a small voice. “I thought that he’d come back to be with us, his friends.”

And that, Hermione suspected, was going to be the topic of conversation and speculation around Hogwarts for the rest of the year.

-oOoOo-

A cool breeze billowed the dark cloak that had been wrapped around the man just moments before. In disgust, he grasped the edges of it and pulled it tight as he stared over the sea before him. His once long platinum blonde hair, his distinctive trademark, had been cut short leaving him almost unrecognisable. Worse still was the long cut that was certain to heal into an ugly scar along his left cheek. The top third of his ear on the same side was also missing although it was hard to tell under the bandage.

Hunger pains gnawed at his stomach and he grimaced. It seemed it was time to venture into the world of the muggles once more to procure sustenance. He knew that he’d need it before he started his journey – the forests of Albania were a long way off, after all.


End file.
